A moving story of a battle to cram a beloved but awkwardly-sized item of furniture into a new apartment. James Lewis reports from the battlefront
We have just moved into an awesome apartment. One of those old school “room for a pony style” Johannesburg apartments: north facing, parquet floors, high ceilings…you know the ones.
We loved our old place, but with a 16-month-old and a new job to boot, we felt it was a vital step to take in pursuit of family living. One key difference in this move was that for the first time I was going to throw good money at the problem and get a moving company to do everything. The “mates bakkie” was a thing of the past. This time I would only keep a watchful eye on proceedings while we paid others to do the heavy lifting.
With everything packed and ready, the move began with promising speed. Bearing in mind the 20-page “moving” manifesto of our new complex, I made sure everything was moved as quickly and quietly as possible. (The heavy lifting time slot is strictly between 4 – 5.30pm.)
With the average age of the residents being around 75, I knew that there would be little tolerance for blocked hallways or stairwells. The last thing we needed was to be in contravention of clause 8.3 subsection b, paragraph 6!
Before I knew it everything was in the flat. Well, almost everything. All the guys had to do now was our favourite item of furniture. Our couch. We had looked for ages for this couch, and when we eventually found it, we decided to hold onto it forever. It was that kind of couch.
It was as the couch was being pushed along the corridor that I suddenly started wondering if it would fit. Of course it would. It MUST. It will. It won’t?
Let’s change the angle a bit. No, not that way, this way. Eish, it won’t fit, Sir. No matter how many ways we tried, it wouldn’t get through the door. Glancing at my watch, I noticed it was was 5.15pm – no more heavy lifting in 15 minutes! What the hell do we do now? God forbid we fall foul of the dreaded clause 6.3. We had been forewarned!
As a last-minute crisis-management decision, I decided to park the couch in our underground parking bay until we could get the issue sorted. We considered our options – remove the security gate? Cut the couch into two pieces? (A solution that was largely frowned upon by the couch fraternity.) Sell the couch? NO!
We then realised that the only way to get it in was through our balcony window. So I consulted with a friend who is a professional climber. We had a recce and decided that the only way to get it up there would be to secure ropes from the roof and winch it up. My friend the climber went into great detail on the requirements of the manoeuvre and made all the right noises regarding the plan – and then never came back!
By this time our couch had caught the attention of the Basement Committee, who had already started to put notes on the couch demanding its immediate removal.
We then contacted a moving company called “Girls On the Move”. They said they could do it. They came that week and drove their truck into the garden of the complex, parked directly below our flat, and lifted the couch through the window onto the balcony while the gardening committee head had a complete cadenza. She even said something about disrupting the roses.
With the end in sight, came an awful moment, as we realised we weren’t going to be able to fit the couch through the balcony door. By this stage I was forced to ignore the experts. We have now decided to take a jigsaw to the couch, cut the back off, move it into the lounge and put it back together again. So, we still don’t have our couch where we want it. But – and this is the important thing – we have a plan!
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