It’s a wardrobe not a cupboard

“It’s a cupboard. It’ll fit in your car.”

Sometimes I’m a little too quick to say yes.

This is the back of the World’s End Estate. It’s my local troublesome estate. Some of the flats get a river view. There’s a knife amnesty bin. The management gives zero fucks about anybody in the block. Same lot as Grenfell.

A small Frenchwoman was getting rid of a wardrobe. Not a cupboard. A wardrobe.

I rolled up on my own in Bergman.

“I’m hoping there’s no damage. It’ll be perfect for Airbnb in the downstairs room.” That’s my friend. About this “cupboard.” Talking about her needs.

There was no damage when I arrived. I was ushered upstairs to the door of a council flat. I was illegally parked downstairs and suddenly I was looking at a huge wardrobe on my own. I wasn’t even sure it would fit in the car. I had no choice but to corner the fucking thing. “Surely somebody would have stopped to help you carry it,” said my attractive female friend. And sure, she would have looked helpless and got help. If it I tried that I’d still be there. The world ain’t fair.

I wrestled it as far as Bergman on my own. I had damaged the feet but I honestly didn’t mind. I was just focused on this impossible task. It cost very little. My focus wasn’t on keeping it pristine when it was clearly a two man job on my own. A wardrobe isn’t a cupboard. Sure she sent me measurements. Makes no sense to me.

I honestly didn’t think it would fit in the car. I thought I’d have to get a zipvan. Lots of people walked past. Nobody offered to help. I got it this far. I leaned it down behind Bergy and tipped it in. It came down to a matter of inches. It’s in the car. The boot closes without breaking the window. Just.

I was proud of myself.

The car is virtually impossible to drive safely, I have no leg room and I can’t see out the back. Nevertheless the cupboard wardrobe is in.

Lou was livid. “She’d better be paying you properly.” My friend, however, merely managed a slightly snarky bunch of comments about the damage that very nearly made me just throw the fucking thing in the river and have done with it. Then she remembered to be nice. But we haven’t talked about money and historically the numbers have been way off.

She wants it in Chelmsford. It’s a three hour round trip and for half of it the car will be unsafe as I can barely move my feet. The recipient has expressed no understanding of this nor has she expressed any desire to compensate me. She just deserves the wardrobe. I’m honestly half expecting her to fuck with me over petrol money when I get to her. It’s why Lou was so angry. Lou’s also right. This is thoughtless. I shouldn’t have said yes. Sure I like being amenable, but sometimes that leads to people exploiting my good nature. QED. Time to draw a line under this.

Once I’ve dropped the fucking thing off.

I was going to do it tomorrow but I have an audition. I forgot about it. Interesting stuff. A potentially delightful tour that would be logistically very complicated. Maybe somewhere I’ve banked some good karma.

I’ll deal with this somehow. For now, Shakespeare…

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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