Surprisingly, we were able to pack most of my belongings in 2 hours--he had to get back to Hampton Beach for a random concert he had won tickets to. I knew this was his not-so-secret obsession. Every visit was showcased with artists, concert tickets and obscure autographs from people I had never heard of.
We packed all my stuff and there was only one piece of furniture left to move: my oversized impractically large dresser. The only way I ever got it IN my apartment in the first place was when my apartment super begged two kids off the street to help us lug it up the ancient swirling staircase. This time I thought gravity might help it fit down the stairs.
I was wrong, very very wrong.
My dad attempted everything: different angles, shifting, pivoting. Nothing seemed to work and now the dresser was lodged securily in the stairwell between the ceiling and the top several steps.
"What are we going to do, Dad?"
"I don't know..."
He hesitated for several seconds, and I knew he was going to come out with something ridiculous. "Hold on. I'll be right back."
I thought he was going out into the driveway to have a smoke. You can imagine my surprise when he comes back into the stairwell with a chainsaw. My jaw dropped.
"You're going to saw this in the stairwell?"
Who the hell drives around with a chainsaw in the back of their car? Only my father.
After 30 solid minutes of wood flying, sawdust strewing, the dresser was finally moved from my second floor apartment onto the street. It was a Tuesday. Trash day wasn't until Friday. I knew I was going to be in big trouble with the buildings super who was paranoid about our apartment looking like common trash. Oh well, maybe no one will notice. Yeah. Right.
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