For Want of a Nail

For whatever reason, a lot of things were broken on our move to Winnipeg. If not broken, then lost or misplaced. We suspect it's because our belongings were loaded onto a truck in Kentucky, driven south to Nashville, warehoused until they found a driver going to Canada, and then loaded on a new truck. That shifting might allow for more damage. While I wish this could have been avoided, there just aren't alot of people moving their belongings from Kentucky to Winnipeg, and therefore, it took a while to find a mover that would move us and even to find a truck driving in the right direction. (three households of belongings were on that truck, and their destinations were Calgary & Lethbridge, Alberta, and Winnipeg...)

That said, we try not to dwell on the downside of things...as much as possible. I've made the damage claims with the mover. We're waiting for the assessor to arrive. Mistakes happen, and these are all just things. Not people, and not live beings, so we're lucky. However, the most frustrating things are the little ones.

For instance, the futon and hardwood frame which normally sits in my office. It usually needs to be disassembled for any move. The movers somehow managed to move it out of our house in Kentucky without taking it apart. (this was done by slight of hand and mirrors, this thing is enormous!) Then, it was taken apart at the warehouse. Then? Somewhere in the move, we lost this:

(For those who care, that's called a "futon glide" or "futon roller." The metal thing is called a clevis pin. You need four of these jobbies for our futon frame, and one is missing.)

Sadly, futon hardware is not standardized. It isn't easily purchased at a hardware store, either. We know because the professor tried to find one at Home Depot yesterday. They suggested calling a futon store instead.

The first futon store was actually very helpful. The person identified the kind of frame she thought we had. (it's 12 years old, I bought it for the professor's bachelor pad the year before we were married.) She then suggested another competing store that might have the part. I call store #2.

"Oh, no problem," they say. "Bring the part in and we'll try to help." So, after dinner, we hop in the car and go to store #2. They don't have any spare hardware parts, but they're very helpful and send us across town to their warehouse.

At this point, I insist on a stop at a mall to buy some other essentials, like Body Shop sunscreen and a book. The book, Fingerweaving Untangled by Carol James, is very well done, and I've just met the author...but I digress. (take note, this was one of the few successes of the evening...)

OK, so off we go to the next store. At this point, I've given up on using the map and we're letting the GPS talk us through a drive across town. We arrive at store #2's other branch and warehouse. The people there are extraordinarily friendly. However, the warehouse manager is new and doesn't want to cannibalize a whole futon frame/set without permission from his boss. Totally understandable, as these frames are pricey... maybe $500 average.

He asks to borrow our sample piece (that would be part #3, since we took one off the futon to find a matching one) and I just about melt down.

"No!" I say, "I can't give you this. What if you lose it!? Then we'll be missing two of these!?"

The man is used to complete hysterics and is calm in the face of impending disaster. He whips out his phone, takes a photo of the piece, and hands it back to the professor. He promises to call us tomorrow. (that would be today.)

As we leave the store, we have an entirely congenial conversation with the salesmen. They do everything they can to help. I explain that unless the futon is set up in my office, I can't unpack the rest of the office. Without the futon, the dogs have nowhere to sleep...and then they bark. They do their jobs (helping me work) best when the futon is there. I like sitting on the futon too. We are lost. Bereft. Without the darn futon. I am completely aware of how crazy this sounds. Bear with me.

We promise the guys that we'll likely buy our next futon at Best Sleep Centre. I announce my need to drown my sorrows in a gelato. Preferably a big one. We leave.

The professor, meanwhile, has been a charming and patient companion through all this. He is easygoing and pleasant. We're enjoying a cool evening on the prairies. All is well. Then, we're driving back towards home...

And the GPS points us towards Gertrude Street. Gertrude Street is a 2 way street with parking on it. It has only about 1.5 lanes open at any time, and it clearly has not been resurfaced for the last 30 winters or so. While it may be the most direct way to go, no person in his/her right mind would choose this road as a good shortcut across town. (*Bump. bump bump. Dodge car. Dodge pothole big enough to swallow us whole. Bump. Dodge pedestrian. Try to cross insanely busy road with 4 lanes of traffic, rep from *.)

This is where the professor loses it. He becomes frustrated and deranged. He is fixated on gelato. He wants to hit the GPS, and settles for shutting it off. He is agitated in a way I cannot soothe.

Meanwhile, we note that the whole city smells like poop. Like manure has just been spread everywhere. No idea why. We are new here. We have broken stuff. And--we took Gertrude Street because of GPS directions.

We share a large waffle cone with "cream of chestnut" and "chocolate cheesecake" at our amazing local gelato place. We agree that all is not lost--if the futon place can't locate us this part, we can order it online from the United States. The parts will cost around $25 US plus shipping. That would be maybe $40 US, plus all that time, mentioned above.

I have now filed another damage claim with the moving company for a stupid piece of plastic. This is only ONE of the several smaller broken things we are trying to cope with. (the piano is a big fix and is entirely out of our purview) About the little stuff, we mean--not fix perfectly, and not replace, but just--you know--set up. Make do. Put our house in order.

This cruddy plastic stuff is getting in the way of our enjoyment of Folklorama, a citywide amazing festival. We are peeved. Tonight, we're dropping everything--but not breaking it--and going out to at least a couple of pavilions.

And yes, we know this would be very funny if it weren't so danged frustrating. After the gelato, the professor insisted I tell you all about this on the blog. He suggested, nay, demanded, that I call it For Want of a Nail.

Commiseration welcome in the comments. Oh, and if you just happen to have one of these thingees laying around, please, let me know!

UPDATE: Best Sleep Centre's warehouse has the piece! Oh! Hurray! Now we'll just drive across town one more time...and we'll be able to put up the futon. Life is good.