After I bought this bed, the lady at Harrington Gallery told me I could decide later if I wanted to have it delivered. “Just call this number,” she said. “I’m Gio. No matter what, I’ll be the one who answers.” She had slightly wild Gypsy-like black hair and wore red, as women with that kind of hair do (and should).
I thought about it for a day. I didn’t call any of my friends with trucks. I ordered the delivery.
On Tuesday, Adam from Harrington called. “We’re out in the Avenues so we should be by soon,” he said. “What’s your address again?”
”#### ##th St.,” I said.
“Riiiight. Street not avenue,” he said. “OK, we have a stop in Cayuga first, so it’ll be 20 minutes.” I had no idea where Cayuga was.
He came in carrying the footboard, humming a song that sounded familiar. When he came in with the rails, humming the same tune, I asked, “What’s that you’re humming? Is it Sinatra?”
“No, Beck,” he said. “He had some album out of goofy guitar songs, years ago. This is one of them. I probably haven’t listened to that album in like 15 years, but this song gets stuck in my head every single day.”
His hair stuck up on top, just above an indentation around his head. Hipster hat head. His maroon printed boxers poufed slightly above his dark blue jeans (sorry, there’s no manly verb that describes it as well as poufed), and his voice was gentle and friendly.
“Do you want help putting this together?” he asked. I didn’t think that was an option. I told him I was afraid I’d have to figure it out after I got home tonight. He chatted as he attached the metal rails to the wooden headboard and footboard, turning down my offers to help until we had to move the box spring onto the frame. It slipped right through to the floor.
“These old beds,” he said, “They’re not made to modern sizes. Sometimes someone was making a bed, and they just made it whatever size they wanted.” He told me that they could give me slats for the frame. He didn’t have them in the truck, but I could stop by the store. He’d have them ready. He measured the size: 55 inches.
“We can set up the bed for you, anyway, though,” he offered. “You don’t want to have to set this up tonight. When you get home from work, sometimes you just want to sleep.” We laid the mattress on top of the boxspring, inside the frame. After they left, I vaguely assembled the bedclothes on my new bed, then dashed out to work.
When I came home from a work dinner, after work, I just wanted to sleep. Thanks for your help, Adam.