I'M HERE

It all got sorted today - swapping one apartment for another.

I've moved houses a lot over my lifetime.

I calculate that since leaving living with my parents I changed 'flats' 21 times and bought and sold houses 9 times so I'm used to packing stuff, humping stuff, driving stuff to new locations and storing stuff. Done and dusted.

This time the move has been from the 7th floor of an apartment building up to the top floor (14th) of the same building. Easy peasy.

The seller (same buyer for my apartment) and the real estate agents have been very obliging and gave me access to the apartment on the weekend. This enabled me to get all the heavy stuff out of mine and up to the new one in advance of cleaning the old apartment. This was a great arrangement.

Today, before exchanging keys and waiting for the OK from the lawyers I was able to whisk the other stuff up in the lift and get settled. It's bloody amazing how much stuff we accumulate. We have a big house up north (it's tenanted with half of our furniture left for the tenants and the rest in a lock up). We'd thought that we were living minimalistically in the apartment but it's not until you move and have to pack and carry things that you realise the truth. Thank (Second's) god that all I had to do was  put the stuff in the building's trolley and wheel it to the lift (about 20 times). Better than loading trucks and cars and transporting across a city or a country.

The only difficulty was the bed.

It seems that when this apartment building was built it was to service a hotel.

The bed bases were big and solid things - one piece.

When we bought the apartment 4 years ago  we changed the mattress but kept the base.

With the move I assumed that all the furniture in the apartment must have got there via the lifts.

Wrong!

Because the building was purpose built 16 years ago the new owners knew what they were about. A hotel. They knew that they would need beds for guests. Good beds. Apparently they hoisted said beds up to the various floors from the outside before the building was walled in.

Nobody told me.

The old Girl, from Toronto, when checking up on, checking in with me, advised that I get assistance with the heavy stuff in the move. I of course, being male, said "Yeah, yeah, no problem".

I carried tables, dressers. chairs, sideboards and the mattress amongst other bits of furniture along the corridor and into the lift to the 14th floor with 'no problem'.

It was the bloody bed-base that was 'the problem'.

I managed to uplift it and drag it along the corridor to the lift. No problem apart from a slight concern of a strain.

I ordered up the lift. That's pretty easy really you just push the button. The problem with a passenger lift as opposed to a tradesman's lift as we were lucky enough to have use of in Toronto is that the passenger lift doesn't have a door lock key to hold the lift door open. Every time I was getting the bloody bed base in the door started to close. I had to drop the bed base and either jam my foot in the door or try and press the button again. Frustrating? Yes!

When I did manage to get the bed base in to the lift it was apparent that it wasn't going to fit.

I tried anyway.

Many times.

After dislodging the roof panels of the lift I decided to give it a miss.

I parked the bed base in the corridor and thought of alternatives:

• Throw the fucking thing off the balcony.
• Set fire to it
• Walk away while whistling and pretend it wasn't mine.

A good catholic upbringing which instilled a sense of conscience in me led me to ignore all of the alternative plans (along with the knowledge that security cameras on every floor record unusual activity) and so I dragged the bloody bed base back to my apartment.

This was queen's birthday Monday. A holiday. I wasn't going to ring any friends and ask them to come around to help. A friend who lived closest to me had told me he was off to Australia that day. I considered calling him anyway  but   said "no".

It's a funny thing this common sense. Sometimes it says "no" and at other times it just sort of says "just go for it".

I just went for it.

The apartment building as well as having lifts also has a staircase. The staircase has wider openings and a much higher 'ceiling'. Choice.

I made the choice.

I dragged the bed base back from the apartment, along the corridor, to the stairwell. 

As I opened the door a nagging memory surfaced - "can you get out of this bloody stairwell once you 

enter it".

One of the good things about being an old bugger is that it's a case of 'been there, done that' and empirical knowledge is helpful.

I parked the bed base and went down (via the lift) to the rubbish room to see if I could find a stick or something to prop the stairwell door open - just in case.

Down there I bumped into the building manager. He's a nice guy and was, on his day off, just checking that all was OK. He was off to join his wife and kids for lunch.

"Just the person I wanted to see" I said and recognised in his eyes his response " and just the person I didn't want to see". 

Not to be deterred I told him of my problem.

Being a building manager which is like a Super Model in the cleaning world (Second take note) he knew that he had to come up with a solution (while checking his watch).

We went back up to the 7th floor and, at his insistence, tried to manoeuvre the bed base into one of the lifts. Now, while it was easier with two people, the simple logistics were that the thing was too big for the lift.

"What about the stairs" he suggested which what I was hoping he would do. I feigned surprise. "The stairs" I said "what a good idea"

We took the bed base to the stairwell. Being a building manager has its advantages. He had a special key that can access the stairwell doors from the inside. Useful that.

We started to take the bed base up the stairs. Seven stories of them. Halfway up the building manager said "Well I'll be blowed" (bowdlerised in case any sensitive souls are reading), "This is bally hard work. I go to the gym and this is harder than that".

"Tell me about it" I thought as I had the top of the stairs position and it was a hell of a lot harder.

Eventually we got the bed base up and installed into the new apartment. The building manager (half my age) staggered off to meet his waiting family.