nin137

Nick's Journal
2005-06-02 23:23:21 (UTC)

If your co-worker asks you to help him move his couch during lunch.......just say no

i'm way overdrawn at the bank of favors in my crazy
hedonistic life so i pounced on the first chance i had to do
a good deed for someone other than myself. my coworker
asked me if i would help him move his couch out of his
apartment during the lunch hour. i figured, shit why not,
how bad could it be? how bad could it be forcing a three
ton pull-out sofa who's bed won't stay underneath the
cushions as you frenetically force it down a stairwell
that's tighter than a two-year olds vagina.
it started out with the good premonitions all movers have
when its fucking obvious something won't fit down the narrow
stairwell it must be moved through.
"we'll turn it, then flip it."
i look at him.
"how about i just chuck it out your window?"
"nawh really, i got it up here."
about 30 minutes later and having my nuts pinned to the wall
by the fucking pull-out bed, i realized the futility of it
all. but my coworker was like a drunk, desperate, dirtbag
thinking he could still come out on top.
"alright," he said panting and soaking with sweat, "what we
have to do is push it towards that wall." he indicated the
two inches of space between the legs of the couch and the
side of the stairwell.
"dude that's pretty fucking close."
"nawh dude, all you gotta do is give it a good, huuumph!"
CRUNCH!
"shit what was that?"
i peeked over the couch.
"you've indented the leg into the side of the wall."
"shit."
with this he let go of the couch and it tore down the wall
falling to the ground.
now we had about 4 pounds of plaster on the stairwell.
"WHAT IN JESUS H. CHRIST IS THIS SHIT!"
i wheeled around to see a large black man with a tire iron.
it's funny what goes through your mind when you're yelled
at by a large black man with a tire iron just inches from
your face. let me tell you, what you just ate last has a
lot to do with it.
"I THOUGHT YOU MOVED OUT ON SUNDAY!"
apparently this guy was my coworkers landlord who was
outside fixing his porsche boxter and about to show some
future tenants the premises.
"ummm, i just have this couch, to get out."
i cringed at this. don't ever lie to a slumlord. just
don't. he had so much shit in his fucking apartment, this
man was liable to kill him. and by the looks of him he
could probably t.k.o. me with his testes.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO MY WALL?!"
"oh i'll, uh, i'll pay for that."
i felt so bad for him now, i could see that discomfort in
his eyes as he was openly being berated by some guy with a
small cock (but probably very large testes) who was
glorified in his temporal position of power.
ONE HOUR AND FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER.
we had managed to force the piece of shit couch onto the
second set of steps. i was dying. my sinus infection was
going crazy, my muscles were sore and my legs were all
bruised. the entire time that fucking jackass was yelling at
my coworker.
when we finally got it to the second staircase he bolted up
into my coworkers apartment.
'oh shit.' i sadly thought.
"YOU GOT FUCKING MILK IN HERE? YOU GOT MILK IN YOUR FRIDGE?
WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? IS THIS A FUCKING FROZEN BURRITO?
YOU GOT ALL YOUR CLOTHES IN HERE! SHIT THAT'S THE FIRST
THING YOU'VE MOVED!"
he ducked his head out of the apartment with such a venomous
glare.
"YOU WEREN'T HONEST WITH ME PARTNA!"
i felt so sick by now, mainly from the drainage flying down
my esophagus.
"YO FRIEND LOOK LIKE HE GONNA PASS OUT MAN."
i quickly keeled over and dry-heaved over the pseudo balcony.
"HE PUKING! HE PUKING ON MY FUCKING PORCH?"
"just the dry-heaves sir, he just has the dry-heaves."
i let up and looked at the slumlord. you could tell that he
was a bit uncertain now, with the couch being out and his
position a bit weakened he quickly changed his tune.
"I WANT THIS SHIT OUT TODAY!"
we went back three hours late to work as i sat there staring
placidly at my cps-7 forms.
no more couch moving for me.