Me and the Sarge got volunteered to pick up a desk for a local charity on Friday. (The charity was set up by the friends and in the name of a Division Youth Services outreach worker who had died recently) So it felt like the good and right thing to do.
Just a little back history note before I continue:
I work in a city with a depressed economy that bounds one of those yuppie “Boston Brahmin Bedroom Communities, named on the map by just the town name but commonly referred to by the Townies as “The followed by the town name”, kinda like “The Hamptons” the town is populated with the old money and John Kerry types who throw on a suit to go fetch the newspaper.
Yeah, I am so not down with that type of personality and I’m sure any richy rich who has ever had to deal with me after leaving the Jaguar unlocked with the keys inside the car while they run into 7-11 for a fresh refill of their Perrier water will attest to……
Back to our story:
We are informed that a psychologist is donating a desk for the charity and they need us to pick it up. The Sarge is informed on short notice that the psychologist is expecting us pronto to get this “expensive gifted desk” from her office, she has a 1-2 hour window of free time for us to pick it up before she has to resume appointments with her rich people with issues errrr I mean psychologically challenged clients . Well at that time he was about 3 towns over in another direction and I’m in court testifying on a case. So he tells her that we will be unavailable for pickup until the next day (Friday) she tells him that “its supposed to be a really bad snow storm tomorrow so……..
(thinking that she is concerned for our safety)
“Are we guaranteing pickup tomorrow???????” Is she fucking kidding me?
She is advised that we are just the guys with the truck and we dont issue guarantees but we will do the best we can and we have the best of intentions.
We arrive in the height of the slushy storm and set out to work, as we arrive she greets us and sees that we are not attired in Polo shirts, Dockers, and Khaki pants and advises us that “the back staircase might be the easiest way out with the desk” (translation she doesn’t want the neighbors seeing that she’s slumming)
We disreguard and carry the damned thing out the front door and mind you were in the affluent town so I’m thinking this desk is going to be rare siberian oak with a marble top or something silly like that, no its a run of the mill Walmart put it together yourself special. Ohhh yeah and she requested that we give her a reciept for her taxes. again are you fucking kidding me?????
We advise her once again that we are just the guys with the truck and advise that she speak with the charity’s people.
We also found out that the peeons and servants in that town are also snobs. As we are struggling to carry the desk out the maintanance man gives us the sideways look and disgustingly inspects the bungee cord that we have propping the door open so that we can get the damned thing out the door without killing ourselves, does he ask if we could use a hand? No he does not.. As we clear the doorway (and even though he sees that the desk drawers are still in the lobby) he unhooks the bungee chords from the door and gives us a look as if to say “are you peasant done yet?”
I hate snobs bigtime, and I cannot believe that this lady (I use the term loosely) is actually in charge of diagnosing other peoples mental health issues. This is yet another reason I will never seek counseling.