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Saturday,
March 3, 2007
Ah, how I love emergency cleaning. Not.
Due to a variety of reasons, we purchased a treadmill Wednesday night at the local Dick's Sporting Goods. Since the treadmill is over 200 pounds and we learned our lesson with getting the dryer up the stairs back in December, we opted to have it delivered. Much to Lyndon's annoyance, we were told that we'd get a call on Monday to confirm a delivery date and time (this, after the salesman gave us a VERY hard pitch to buy a mat for the treadmill, a lubricating kit, and a Dick's Sporting Goods credit card. I was more than willing to walk out and find a more accomodating sporting goods store at that point, but Lyndon wanted this particular treadmill so we sucked it up and bought it).
Fast forward to this morning, where we were getting cleaned up in preparation for a trip out to the North Irish Texas Festival when Lyndon got a call from Dick's shipping subcontractors -- they could deliver the treadmill this afternoon, and would we be home? Since we REALLY wanted the treadmill as soon as possible and weren't happy about the long delay until its arrival, he said to come on over, then hung up the phone and told me about it.
Have you ever seen an anime episode where the character's jaw drops wide and a big ol' sweat bead appears on his/her forehead? That was me. Since I've been extremely busy trying to finish a novel AND edit a novella and short story over the last two weeks, the apartment looked like Lollapalooza had just packed up and headed for cleaner pastures, and I really, really, REALLY don't like people coming over in this situation.
Cursing in Sumerian, I leapt for the Dyson and started frantically cleaning the staircase, foyer and living room, while Lyndon grabbed all loose stuff and tossed it in the respective owner's offce, then swamped out the kitchen. An hour and a half later, we're both dripping in sweat, but by Cthulhu all the public rooms are acceptable for visitors, and a space has been made for the treadmill in the tiny bay window area behind the living room.
Now we just have to wait for them delivery guys to get here -- whee...
And it's here
Two charming young men in their mid-twenties arrived not long after I wrote the above text, and chatted with Lyndon about being in college and how walking everywhere was such wonderful exercise as they put together the treadmill.
And I think I need to explain a bit more about this, as some people wondered why I fretted so about cleaning before the delivery guys arrived -- it wasn't as if they were going to show up at the door, hand over the treadmill and stroll off. They would have to carry it as parts up our interior staircase, through the foyer, into the living room, then spend some time putting it together -- i.e. they would be here for awhile, hence my response.
Oh, and the installer guys said, "You won't need to lubricate it for another six months or so, and the bottle of lube that came with the machine should last for at least a year." So much for the, "Oh, you need this lubricating kit, too" schtick from the salesbot.