Free Always Costs Something

I have had my computer on a wooden contraption that I'd never call a desk (why insult desk-makers the world over?) for years. I didn't have room for a real desk, then I moved here and had simply become used to the awful thing. And I didn't really "need" a desk, obviously, as this thing had sufficed all this while.

But this afternoon I looked at the free stuff on Craigslist, which I do occasionally, and someone was giving away a perfectly good computer desk! Usually free stuff is free for a reason, but this looked nice. I walked out to the living room to tell John, since his help and his truck would be needed. He was napping on the couch. Disappointed, I went back to my room, staring at the picture on the monitor, reading over again that they'd take down the ad once it was gone. I considered calling the house phone to wake John up, but figured that'd be obvious from the guilty look on my face after he woke up.

I went back to the living room and stared at him, willing him to wake up on his own. His eyes opened and I immediately said, "Oh, did I wake you? Sorry." I was not. He said he wasn't asleep, just resting, and I told him about the desk. I didn't expect his reaction. He practically jumped up (he's 75, so literally jumping up would be something to see) and said, "Well, let's go get it!" He headed for the door. I had to put socks and shoes on, go to the bathroom before leaving the house (a rule of the universe), and grab my purse (for no good reason, since I wasn't driving and it was free). I panicked for just a moment, then remembered his enlarged prostate and realized I had time. No, he's never discussed it (not even with his doctor, I'd bet), but I've lived with my father and I know the signs. So he came back in to go the bathroom and then we met at the truck.

I directed him to the address in Ventura and the desk was -- yay! -- still there. It looked great. It was your standard, put-in-together-yourself particle board type of thing, but it looked well cared for. A man riding down the street on his bicycle saw us and came over, saying he was a neighbor and offering to help us put the desk in the truck. I told him how nice of him that was, and commented that the desk could be sold, not given away, since it was in such good shape. He said the owners were great people and they simply didn't need it anymore. All was lovely and well.

Then we tried to pick it up. We all know that particle board weighs more than real wood. But I'd forgotten just how much heavier it is. Good gravy all Friday, as my mom used to say (though I have no idea where she got that or what it means), it was ridiculous. John, being the way he is, couldn't stand to have me help in front of another man. He elbowed me out of the way and the two of them picked it up and got it in the truck bed. I'm stronger than John, so I guess it was pure male ego and testosterone at work.

On the way home I suggested calling Logan and/or Kael to help us at the house. John said no, that wasn't necessary. Logan and Kael are strappin' young men, and if one or both were at home and not busy they'd be happy to help. But I couldn't exactly get them there on a pretext (no one simply "stops by" to visit unless John is away), and he was determined that we could do it ourselves, so I didn't call them and ask if they could possibly speed over from Oxnard and beat us home. They're both careful drivers.

All we had to do was take the desk out of the truck the same way it went in. But John, being the way he is, could not let that happen. No, me being strong enough to lift half that desk (or maybe three-quarters, since I don't know what the split was between him and the good Samaritan), was too much for his chauvinism to consider. So he proclaimed that we'd slide it down. Except that, on the verge of doing so, he decided we needed lengths of wood to slide it along. I don't know why. Perhaps because they're stacked in the side yard and should come in handy for something. Heaven knows we can't burn them in the fireplace (hasn't been used in years, which is a crying shame and another story).

So he left me with the desk hanging half off the truck gate and went to get the wood. I should've followed my gut and let it slide down, but I hesitated and -- it's a cliché because it's true -- lost. The wood planks made no sense to me, though I followed his directions and placed them where he told me to place them. The desk slid partway down, then got hung up on one plank and, with a jerk by John, the whole thing fell off the planks and hit the concrete driveway. And it broke. He wouldn't let me see how bad it was. He just kept getting in the way and giving me directions that involved the dolly.

At some point he gave up on the dolly and shoved and dragged the poor desk the rest of the way into my room. Veneer snapped off, pieces inside one drawer clanged to the ground, and when it finally came to rest in its spot it no longer looked like the cared for piece of furniture the nice couple over on Cheshire Street gave away.

When I saw the broken part I cursed. Yes, I still put to use what the Navy taught me, when provoked. John said it was no problem, that he'd jack it up, glue it, and clamp it. Jack it up! That was not just some absurd comment -- he actually did it! I've never seen anyone jack up a piece of furniture before. Live and freakin' learn, right?

I had pushed my other furniture aside to make room for the desk, and when John suggested that I simply leave the new desk alone, as the glue set for several hours, I gasped and clutched at my neck. I did. It was very melodramatic. I said, "Do you think I can leave my room in this kind of disarray for hours? Have you met me?" He chuckled and said that, on second thought, I could go ahead and put my things on the desk while the glue dried, that it'd be okay. The clamp is still on as I type this, after eleven at night. He might take it off tomorrow. I don't think the clamp is actually holding the desk together. I hope.

I cleaned it thoroughly and then set about fixing the broken drawer. For some reason, the roller assembly wasn't screwed to the bottom of it. I'm pretty sure it was supposed to be, but it wasn't, and had never been. I think it had simply held together tightly when new, and now it'd been loosened by use and the move. I asked John where he'd put the glue. He wanted to know why. I explained. He said that wasn't the right kind of glue and he'd be in to look at it shortly. I said, "That's not necessary. This isn't a big deal." Then I used scotch tape to keep the assembly in place as I turned the drawer over and slid it onto the tracks.

John came in a few minutes later and was dumbfounded (yes, I'm choosing my words precisely here) that I'd fixed it without him and his special glue.

I needed his help. Without the truck I wouldn't have the desk at all. And it was free. I appreciate all that. But damn, it would've been so much easier and turned out so much better if I simply owned my own truck.