Fridge

I now have a fridge in my garage. This, my friends, is fucking awesome!

Sunday at 5:00 my cell phone started jumping and jingling like it usually does when I receive a call. Hoping that it was a fine lass looking for a good ‘ol time, I excitedly flipped it open, almost breaking it in half. Much to my dismay it was not a 25 year old woman on the other end but instead a 50 year old man. G the hairdresser and his partner in crime were returning from a job and heading out to another one which required my help.

About a week ago G asked me if I wanted a refrigerator for my basement. The people I bought the house from had one down there and the guy had it stocked with beer. Not that it played into the actual purchase of the house, but I thought it was a cool idea. I had inquired about buying it in the offer/counter offer process but they said they had already promised it to someone else. I don’t know how the hell they got it out of the basement with the 90 degree bend halfway up the steps, but they did.

Anyway, G knows I’m a cheap bastard and said the fridge was free; all we had to do was pick it up. Not being one to pass up on free shit I said I’d take it. 5:00 the phone rang. They were ready to pick me up with the van and trailer. Clenching my butt cheeks while I was on the phone I informed them that I’d need five minutes to take a shit.

Renter: That wasn’t a girl on the phone, was it?

Me: No, just G and D.

Renter: I don’t know why you feel the need to let people know you have to take a shit.

Me: It’s G and D, they don’t care.

Blog readers: I take shits and I’m actually pretty proud of some of them. Just in case you hadn’t caught on by now.

They pulled up in the van and D got out. I hopped in and was directed to my seat for the evening: a milk crate with a cushion on it. Safety first boys and girls. Before G would put the van into drive:

G: I need $10 for gas.

Me, looking at him like he’s crazy: What?

G: I need $10 for gas. You’re getting a free refrigerator, fork over $10.

Reluctantly I handed him $10 and we went to the gas station. There I was, down $10 and sitting on a milk crate. This was going to be some evening.

We got to the destination which turned out to be one of G’s friends house. This friend was remodeling his house and told G that he could have the fridge, stove, and couches. All G had to do was move it out and haul it away. G and D got the fridge out in about fifteen minutes, D and I wheeled it down the side walk to the street. Only problem: steps. I don’t have much experience using a dolly and while I’m not a total fucking idiot, I managed to make the job harder than it should have been. You see, I figured why let the fridge roll over each step only to come crashing down on the next one when I could easily lift the front of the it over the steps suspending it between myself and D with the dolly. I didn’t realize that in doing this it applied a lot more pressure on D. I later figured out that D had roughly 75% of the weight of the fridge on the dolly since my end seemed relatively light (and I thought he was a pussy for yelling and complaining).

We got the fridge loaded on the trailer, hauled an oven out to the front porch for Owen the Junk Man to pick up, and I carried a microwave out to the van. We slowly made it back to my house and unloaded the fridge. The Renter cleaned out a corner of the garage and we wheeled it in.

Do you know what this means? I will now have ice cold refreshing beer at my fingertips when I am outside doing yard work this summer. Granted the deck I built last summer eats up a third of my back yard but still, I can pretend to do yard work. I don’t think it would be far fetched to boldly proclaim that, with a little motivation from the new garage appliance, my yard will be the most immaculate yard on the block. I already have planned to take a week off from work to stain the deck before a possible Memorial Day visitor arrives. Either that or before Summerfest when another visitor might be arriving. It all depends on the weather; I’m waiting for a sunny week in the 80’s so I can tan my bulging muscles (and stomach).

The only minor drawback I can foresee: beer thieves. Last summer I swear my neighbors would sit in their front windows and stake out my house, leaping off their couches when they spotted me walk out on to the deck. Mr. Fudd is always good about bringing beer over or giving the errand girl (Renter) cash to go and get beer. However, another much shorter neighbor consumed many a beer at my house last year and brought over a 30 pack only once. The old roommate must have had a tracking devise on my car because somehow he seemed to know the exact day I would stop at the store. And then there’s the Renter. Heaven knows how many of my beers she chugged.

Even though I’ve been called cheap and tight and may or may not have a roll of $100’s stuck in my ass, I am not tight with my beer. Sure, I’ll bite your arm if you try going for my pitcher at the bar, but there’s nothing like sharing cold beers with friends on nice summer evenings.