>My bed was finally delivered yesterday. A scrawny young man turned up at the door and announced that he was delivering my bed. I looked past him for the other young, strong men that had come with him but he appeared to be all alone.
“Where shall I put it?”
“Well, my bedroom is on the first floor.”
“I don’t deliver to the first floor. I can leave the bed in the garage though.”
“I don’t sleep in the garage, and besides there’s no room there. I’ve been through this with the shop and they have told me that it had been sorted.”
The poor man looked upset and angry. He called Trendhopper, the shop that sold me the bed. They were of absolutely no use and finally I suggested calling a friend to help him after the delivery man threatened to take everything back to Trendhopper to which I pointed out to him would be theft. He seemed OK with that, and then Quarsan turned up too making a difficult job slightly easier. You try hauling a wrought-iron bed through Coralie’s (open) windows.
As he left I tipped him. He had been kind enough to charge me the standard delivery rate and was going straight round to Trendhopper to get the rest. I didn’t give much, but something that would go into his pocket and not his boss’s. Enough for 10 beers. Or 3 packets of fags.
Then Quarsan and I started assembling the bed.
Cue much swearing.
Something wasn’t quite right though….
There were only 2 bars to hold up the mattress. That didn’t look right.
So I called the shop again.
“But you didn’t order a mattress-support.”
“You don’t have to be Einstein to work out that one is needed though, do you? I shall never shop with you again.”
Fortunately, my old bed was the same size and so we used the old support which is still in good nick, added the mattress and look! a sexy new bed.
The Twat lay on it and then muttered: “I prefer the old mattress.”
Fat sod.
Now I’m surrounded by bubble-wrap and lots and lots of carton. Help.
