A Drama King

  As part of our kitchen remodel we ended buying a behemoth refrigerator.  And when I say, "behemoth," I mean this thing is a beast in every sense of the word.  It's 48-inches wide, 84-inches tall and is purported to weigh over 1200 lbs.   While purchasing the beast, Glen and I  unanimously agreed that we wanted no part in trying to move it even an inch and that paying the extra $200 for delivery would be worth every cent to us.

A couple days later the delivery guy shows up.  Built in approximately the same proportions as the fridge, he very much looked the part of a guy who makes his living delivering fridges.   Too bad the beast was too much even for him.  He'd only brought one skinny guy to help him and he took one look at our stairs and blatantly refused to even try delivery.   The next half-hour was spent in this odd sort of negotiation process as he tried to get me to agree to just leave the fridge in our garage for us to move upstairs ourselves (I said, "No way!"), then to sign a waiver that he wouldn't be held liable if he damaged our floor, stairs, railing, or fridge during delivery ("Not a chance!"), then he offered to come back another day (not ideal), then a few minutes later told me he'd called for back-up.

Why he didn't do that in the first place I have no idea.

He then caught sight of the men working on our kitchen and tried to persuade them to come help him.  They didn't feel comfortable with the heavy lifting, which immediately sent Fridge Guy into a fury, calling our workers lazy and stupid.  

Next thing I know he and skinny guy are trying to get the fridge out themselves without waiting for their back-up.  They hoisted it up our steep driveway and into the backyard, huffing, puffing, and moaning every step of the way.  They were about to try to get it up our deck stairs themselves and one of our kitchen workers felt sorry for them and did come join them.

It took about 10 minutes for the three of them to get it up the stairs, after which Fridge Guy collapsed flat on his back on our deck and demanded (no exaggeration) that I bring him water immediately.  After bringing water and a pack of Oreos as a peace offering, I hoped that the hard part (and the dramatics) would be over.  Alas, it was a misplaced hope as now he seemed encouraged by my concern for his well being and made a huge show every time he touched the fridge.  After moving the fridge to the doorway, he put on an Oscar worthy performance where he grabbed his arm, writhed in purported horrible pain, and said he needed a hospital. Thirty seconds later he was fine.  Then, after moving it another couple of feet, he showed me a small cut and started rambling about how he hoped it wouldn't get infected.

By the time he finished--right about the time his backup showed up -- he had changed his tune and instead of complaining, had started bragging about how strong God had made him.  Finally, after more than hour, the show was finally over, our Oreos were gone, and our fridge stands proudly as beacon in our dining room....

reminding the kids, amidst their giggles and constant quoting of Fridge Guy, the merits of higher education.

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