![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
May. 24th, 2003 05:34 pmDelivery of the new bed had been promised between 8 and 10 this morning, so I was a bit peeved when the truck didn't roll up until 11:15. I was immediately mollified, however, by the two young delivery guys--a gorgeous black man with dreadlocks and ripply arm muscles and a vaguely Caribbean accent, and a cute white kid with a buzzcut and *short* short cut-offs and fuck-me construction-worker boots at the end of his long bare muscular legs. Both were very sweet, and I felt a slight twinge of guilt for my pervy fantasies about just what they might have been getting up to in the back of the truck to make them so late. (My god, I never used to be like this before I met all you people. You ought to be so *ashamed*...)
They left, and I set to ripping apart the huge boxes and studying the cryptic instructions for assembly of the bed frame. Two conclusions: (a) technical writing, as a discipline, has before it vast virgin territories where its very existence is unknown (say, for instance, the crafting of instructions for assemble-it-yourself furniture); and (b) putting together a heavy iron bedframe is something that really goes much better if you have more than one person involved.
Nevertheless, I forged ahead, undaunted by grey blurry line drawings of complex jointures, and the need to go down to the hardware store and replace all the *crap* bolts that were supplied. And I am now sweaty, sore, very achey in the lower back, but by god I have a bed that is, like, *yards* up off the floor. When I was done, and had put clean sheets on, and the bedspread, I flopped onto it, and felt like I could almost reach up and touch the ceiling. Never again will I have bedcovers trailing on the dusty floor and getting stepped on! Plus, in addition, my vast I am Mighty Furniture Assembly Woman! mojo has been replenished. And I even got the acreage of cardboard packaging broken down and tied up and set out for recycling. Now for a hot bath and a cold beer.
They left, and I set to ripping apart the huge boxes and studying the cryptic instructions for assembly of the bed frame. Two conclusions: (a) technical writing, as a discipline, has before it vast virgin territories where its very existence is unknown (say, for instance, the crafting of instructions for assemble-it-yourself furniture); and (b) putting together a heavy iron bedframe is something that really goes much better if you have more than one person involved.
Nevertheless, I forged ahead, undaunted by grey blurry line drawings of complex jointures, and the need to go down to the hardware store and replace all the *crap* bolts that were supplied. And I am now sweaty, sore, very achey in the lower back, but by god I have a bed that is, like, *yards* up off the floor. When I was done, and had put clean sheets on, and the bedspread, I flopped onto it, and felt like I could almost reach up and touch the ceiling. Never again will I have bedcovers trailing on the dusty floor and getting stepped on! Plus, in addition, my vast I am Mighty Furniture Assembly Woman! mojo has been replenished. And I even got the acreage of cardboard packaging broken down and tied up and set out for recycling. Now for a hot bath and a cold beer.