Memory Lane Monday: The Saga of the Couch That Refused to Leave Part Deux

If you didn't read Part 1 of the Saga of the Couch That Refused to Leave, that's ok, it's not really vital to this part of the story, but it will make you understand that this is an ongoing saga, and not just a strange thing that happened one night. 
Anywho, on with Part 2!

Boyfriend and I are getting close to turning the big 3-0 (he's closer than I am, bwahaha.) When that happens, you start to think about "childish" parts of your life that may need to fall by the wayside to make room for new "more adult" practices (that wasn't meant to sound dirty.) One of those practices is moving. When you're young or in college you tend to move a lot. It's usually easy to bribe friends or loved ones to help you move with the promise of free pizza and beer. But, at a certain age you start to say to yourself, "I want to help my friends, but I reeeeeeeeeally don't want to do any heavy lifting" and pizza and beer bribes are no longer effective. That is one reason why Boyfriend and I said SCREW THIS when moving out of our Park Slope apartment into our current one. We made the greatest decision and investment of our lives: we hired professional movers. We are never not doing that again. They loaded everything into a truck and moved it across town and up 4 flights of stairs into the new apartment. Among these items moved was our loyal, comfy Big Purple Couch. I don't know how the movers got Big Purple Couch up the 4 flights of very narrow stairs, but they did.

Our movers were even more awesome than-OHMYGODNOTHINGISAWESOMERTHANTHIS!

Nearing the end of our first year in our current apartment, we noticed that the cushions on Big Purple Couch were sinking lower and lower. It was getting to a point where Big Purple Couch was not as comfy as it once was. Our backs and backsides were suffering. So much so, that we started talking about getting a new couch. It was almost as if the couch new what we were talking about because only a week after we first mentioned getting a new couch, Boyfriend sat down one afternoon and we heard a loud metal twang followed by the crunching of wood from inside the couch. Upon investigation it was apparent that Big Purple Couch would definitely need replacing. Two of the metal coil/zig-zaggy springs that gave support had completely snapped, most likely due to years of Boyfriend flopping down on the cushions with all of his weight couch old age.

Serendipitously, Boyfriend's boss had an unused couch in storage and offered to loan it to us until the time came when he forgot he owned it needed it again.  Boyfriend rented a truck and offered to pay our recently unemployed friend, Matt some money to help him move the new couch in and the Big Purple Couch out. The new couch was a light pistachio in color and thankfully came with a beige cover. It was also a pull-out couch. If you've never tried to move a pull-out couch, they are heavy. Imagine trying to lift a couch while your friend is sitting on it, if your friend weighed as mush as a folded up mattress surrounded by metal. It's kind of like that. Boyfriend and Matt amazingly got the new Pistachio Couch up 4 flights of stairs and into our apartment where I was waiting with plenty of water, tea, beer, etc. That was the hard part...or so we all thought.

Throughout the evening I had been making jokes about how everything in life could relate back to an episode of Friends (remember that show? I feel old.) As the boys were moving the heavy-ass Pistachio couch up the stairs, I was annoying entertaining them with a review of the Friends episode that fit this situation: The One With the Cop, in which Ross buys a new sofa and can't get it up the stairs. Hilarity ensues. (PIVOT!)

Source

After getting our "new" couch into the apartment, Matt and Boyfriend picked up the much lighter Big Purple Couch to take it downstairs to put on the street for the trash truck. But, Big Purple Couch had other plans. Getting down the stairs was much more of a struggle than expected. It was as if the stairwell got narrower and narrower the further down they went. Or as if the couch deliberately expanded itself. The boys struggled but managed to squeeze Big Purple Couch down the stairwell, until they got to the very last turn to the outside door. There was some sort of electrical box on the wall in the corner on the first flight of stairs blocking the couch. Matt and Boyfriend struggled and pushed and heaved and finagled for an hour. An. HOUR. It was not possible to get the couch down the stairs, which made absolutely no sense to us since the movers were able to get it up the stairs. Our tiny exhausted minds were blown as the oh-no-what-are-we-going-to-do-with-an-extra-couch-now thoughts began to sink in. We eventually hypothesized that when the springs had snapped, the couch frame expanded just enough to prevent it from fitting back down the stairs. We took the couch back up to our apartment to have a drink break and a brainstorming session.

Brilliant idea #1: We had roof access. We could take Big Purple Couch up to the roof until we could come up with a solution to getting it out of the building, like getting more people to help and maybe some ropes to lower down to the ground floor from the roof. This plan was quickly dashed when I discovered the assholes who own our building had installed an alarm and deadbolt on the door to the roof. 
To quote a wise man, Bobby Singer: Balls.

I love that our emergency exit is dead-bolted shut with a rusty latch. I feel so safe.

The hour was growing late and Matt had things to do and Boyfriend had to return the rented truck. And we were running out of options. Big Purple Couch could not stay in our apartment; we had absolutely no room. The roof was not an option. Our apartment was not an option. The hallway was not an option. In a fit of delirium brilliance that rivaled the first part of the Big Purple Couch's saga, I suggested something unthinkable that is a perfect example of life imitating art. 

Brilliant Idea #2: Like Ross, we would have to cut the couch into halves.  It was sad and hilarious at the same time. While we loved Big Purple Couch, it had died and we had no other choice. We had passed the point of no return. Armed with nothing more than a hand saw and pliers (and for the record, I do believe we are the only New Yorkers who own tools) Boyfriend and Matt successfully performed the couch-ectomy. It was loud. It was messy. It was exhausting.  For them, I'm sure. I just stood around and watched.

And documented the travesty of course

And yes, I am well aware of the ironic hilarity of the entire situation. The fact that this ridiculousness was a success can only prove that the universe has a sick and wicked sense of humor, and is a Friends fan. 

Men at work

Here ends the saga of the Big Purple Couch. It was a loved couch. It was a loyal couch. It was a warm couch. Literally. It was made of some sort of corduroy blend and that shit held heat in the summertime. 

But, as all things, it too had to have an end. As Boyfriend told me the other day when I was afraid this story had too sad of an ending for anyone other than me to find it funny: "It was a good couch, but its insides broke and we had to put it down. It was best for all involved." And this is why I love him. He will slay a dying couch for me and make me laugh when I wax nostalgic about it.

Bye-bye couch

fin