The next point asked whether I'd measured my doorway to make sure the products will fit through, boxed. Boxed? If the products don't fit through the doors, they will be left. If I won't be home, it's a $75 fee to take it back and another $75 to reschedule.
The back door would not accommodate a 30-inch stove, but the front door would. I called my brother-in-law, who told me not to panic.
Next came a note from the electrician telling me that the track lights I want will cost $4,000 additional, while the track lights I don't like as much will be $400 more. I'll suffer with the lesser beauty.
At 10:00 a.m., the truck arrives, with two Russian gentlemen, one who didn't speak much English and the other who was angry with me because of my steep steps. I showed him the alley. His truck wouldn't fit. He could park it at the bottom of the alley, but he chose not to.
I tied the door open for him and he and his partner prepared the hand truck. I wasn't going to watch, so I worked until the stove came inside. The man threw me shade and complained and breathed heavily. I ignored them until the dishwasher and microwave were both inside, and the Russian whipped out an invoice for me to sign. "Was very hard. Was many steps. Dis was not right." Oy. I went upstairs and returned with an $80 tip, $40 each. He still didn't smile, but he thanked me, as if I'd only done the right thing, not a generous one.
Oh, the stove is glorious. And so clean. My already-good food is going to taste even better.
* * *
This isn't a hardship. I know it's not even been two full weeks yet, but all we've had to do is fill the dogs' water bowl upstairs now and then and wash like three dishes in the basement every day. It's not a big deal. One of the worst things thus far is that our microwave was connected by extension cord, and we could tell by its reduced power that something was wrong. Then we could tell when we burned up an entire power strip. We replaced that with a new power strip, and we burned up a plug. Oops.
But at 8:00, my husband announced that he was going to bed because there was nowhere for him to sit. I stopped him at the bottom of the stairs and slid the dishwasher across the floor. Then I pushed the stove. I was able to clear enough space for him to take the recliner and for me to take the sofa. Chance was on his bed, Jett was on the floor, and we had an unobstructed view of Mozart in the Jungle.
Tomorrow, the kitchen gets a floor.