La Chambre de Bebe

.
Bringing home baby furniture should always be a joyous occasion. Watching your man putting the crib together, assembling it, moving it around to find the perfect spot in the room that you picked out for your little one, finally seeing your vision being put into play – all things that brought a huge smile to this future mom’s face when it happened.

It was the trip home with the furniture that wasn’t so joyous.

We waited until the Sunday before my baby shower, one of the few sunny days until that point, to pick it up from the store. Drove the truck over there, paid off the layaway, waited while they brought the furniture to the front, and I waited in the truck while they loaded it up. Hottie had more sense and watched them load it up. Or attempt to load it up, I should say. The overweight, older white guy lost his grip at one point and dropped the dresser while trying to lift it into the bed of the truck. The three guys were struggling to load the three pieces into the bed of the truck in an order that would keep the pieces safe while en route. Obviously, they’ve never worked in the logistics field or loaded a container. Hottie made a couple of suggestions to improve their disorganization, and finally we were loaded up and on our way home.

We pulled up to the light to exit the parking lot. Turned left when the light turned green. And heard a big thump as the dresser tumbled over the side of the truck.

“Oh, shit!” I yelled, swiveling around to look in the back of the truck and side mirror only to see our dresser, wrapped in the packaging and box, sitting in the middle of the intersection.

The truck behind us swerved around the box. Hottie pulled into the gas station at the corner and raced to get the crate out of the lane. He picked up one end, tilted it, and slammed it down on the other side in order to navigate it out of the intersection. I swung out of the truck, hurriedly waddled my way over to the box, intent on helping.

“Get back, babe.” Hottie struggled to lift the box over the lip of the road at the curb. “You’re not going to be able to help.”

I stood there, hugely pregnant, unable to do anything

The light changed and cars zoomed around him. One white car came within inches and had Hottie turning in the middle of the road to yell after the car, “What? You can’t wait five seconds, asshole?”

Obviously, the driver was urgently racing to the hospital in order to perform emergency heart surgery on someone.

And then our Good Samaritan arrived. He pulled into the gas station, hopped out of his car in a full three piece suit at two o’clock on a Sunday afternoon, raced over to Hottie and they lifted the box with the dresser over the lip, across the gas station parking lot, and into the bed of the truck.

Wherever you are, Good Samaritan, God bless you!

.