Taking Delivery

One year in college, I went with my boyfriend to his house for Christmas. It was a pleasant trip, I have fond memories, some less fond memories, and a towel from the trip. The towel is a clear indicator that it wasn't a bad trip.

During the trip, his family was a bit consternated: they were taking delivery of a new couch, but no one was going to be home to receive it. BF's dad was going to work. BF's mom was out somewhere else. BF had a Mustang motor to pick up. BF's sister would be at school. What to do? What to do?

Um.... hello?

I offered, since I didn't have any plans other than hang out at the house anyway. The delivery guys delivered the couch, put it where I was told to tell them to put it, and left. Hours later, the family returns.

It was the wrong couch.

Well, not exactly. It was mostly the right couch, but some parts of it were wrong, something about the cushions and the back. Where the parts went wrong was unclear to everyone: on order, on manufacture, or on delivery. I didn't have any part of the wrong-couch resolution, and don't have any idea what subsequently happened. For all I know, said delivered couch is still in said house, years later.

So, last night, when Claire mentioned to Matthew that she would be out when he and Sagan would be out, and that the plumber would be arriving when all three were out, I immediately offered to be available to greet the plumber and escort her to the "work site," memories of the wrong couch floating up to the front of my brain. I asked lots of questions about what would be done, who was coming over, how much knowledge do they have about the problem, where should I take them, just to make sure we don't have another wrong-couch (wrong pipe?) incident.

And here I am, waiting for a plumber.

I just hope she doesn't deliver the wrong pipe.