Television solves all problems

As I sat at work thinking about things other than work, I realised why Pete and I aren’t clicking in a domestic setting. It’s because every night must be some sort of adventure. We can’t ever just hang out. Even the nights he made dinner, it was still a big deal: the cooking, the bubble bath, the sex. (Okay, don’t mind the sex. I like that kind of adventure.) Plus, I’m getting a bit tired of living as an unintentional minimalist.

I had a scrounge on the internet, and I came across was a telly and a freeview box on Freecycle. This was the answer to all my problems. If we had a telly in the flat, then it would be much easier to just have a night in on occasion. No need for every night to be an adventure. We can just watch a film or just hang out.

I sent an email to the ad on Freecycle, and lucky for me they said I could have it if I came to collect.

To get to the house for collection I’d need to take two buses, so I rang Pete and had him meet me after work. We found our way to the address, and a lovely lady lead us to the lounge where the television and freeview box sat. This gargantuan television which was birthed in the 90s when they were as deep as they were long.

Now, not that I’m ungrateful for free stuff, but there’s one little problem with Freecycle: no pictures. I’m not saying that I’m choosy, a free telly is a free telly. But the problem was that we had to get this thing home on the bus, and if I knew the size of the thing before hand, I would have never agreed to take it.

It was one of those old telly’s that has the speakers attached down the sides making the whole thing a foot wider than the actual screen, plus it was screwed into this big honkin plastic stand. We asked the lady if she had a screwdriver or something to unfasten the television from the stand, but we were in no such luck. (Although she did have all the cables, the manual and all the remotes, which is more than I can say for any piece of electronics I’ve ever owned. At this moment I have no idea where the earbus are for my ipod.)

We hauled this thing out onto the street, and with each of us taking a side we wobbled down to the bus stop. Now, let me give you a little tip about moving a large item down the street: both people should be about the same height. Pete is just over six feet tall and I’m five feet three inches. This was not an easy task. Oh, plus I have the upper body strength of spaghetti, and I was wearing my clothes from work (ie, a skirt and wedgy-heels), so I wasn’t really wearing moving man attire.

So, we finally got to the bus stop, and drug this thing onto it, putting it in the front where the prams go. When we got on, there was obviously no one in that spot so it wasn’t a problem. But about two stops later, a lady and her ginormous stupid fucking SUV of a pram got on the bus. She had no where to park her baby-car, so she had a right go at us.

Now, let me say that if it was an old person or a disable person, I would have found a way to move the telly. However, unlike the disabled and the elderly who can’t help their condition, this woman not only decided to let someone put their dick in her without protection, but she has also made the conscious decision to haul around the result of said dick-placing-incident in a buggy the size of a mini-cooper. So, therefore, she relinquishes her right to be hard done by. And because both she and I made a conscience choice to get on the bus with large items, the situation became a first-come-first-serve type scenario. And I got there first.

She huffed and grumbled, and she scooted that stupid pram around everywhere, and when someone tried to pass by it, she’d say really loudly in that stupid broad Dundee accent, ‘Surry, me I cannae geet eet mooved. Tha nae room.’ Or some such Dundee gibberish.

We finally got to our stop, and Pete and I drug the thing off and waited for the next bus to make our connection. The number 22 bus pulled up, and we went to get on with our ginormous ancient telly and the bus driver wouldn’t let us on the bus. I was livid. We had every right to get on the bus, and he couldn’t stop me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get the bloody television up and onto the bus without Pete’s help, and he’s mister pacifist, so when I started getting irate with the bus driver, he gently pulled me back, asked me to take a breath, and then told the bus driver to continue on.

I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t going to wait another twenty minutes for a bus. That cock fuck of a bus driver had no right to not let us on. I was looking on the bus stop sign for a telephone number to call and complain (conveniently there isn’t one), when Pete said that we should just forget the telly. Give it to the next person who came along.

Yeah, can you believe that? He wanted to give away my brand-new used television. And why he thought that someone would want it was beyond me. If we couldn’t get it home, how could they. They’re waiting for a bus too. He also said that he doesn’t watch television anyway, ‘It’s not good for the soul.’ To which I say bollocks. Telly solves every problem. And I wasn’t giving away my problem solver to the next random chav at the bus stop so they could smash it up to see what was in side.

I told Pete to wait with my television while I went into a shop across the road to ask for the number of a taxi. Not only had I left my Blackberry at work, I still don’t know how to use it other than to answer the phone or to dial a number (I haven’t synced it or used it for internet-y type things), so all I have is my sad little non-smartphone, which means if I want a phone number I have to dial 118 or look it up somewhere.

I got the number of a taxi, gave them a call and told them to bring a van type taxi. It didn’t take to long to arrive, and Pete and I loaded it up. We got home, and after Pete and I took the telly out of the taxi (no help from the driver) he charged us £20 for what should have been a £5 ride. I questioned this, and the driver said that because we were moving furniture it would cost more. What the fuck! He didn’t do a single thing. I was not going to pay the £20, and I started to argue. But, once again, Pete the pacifist said that that was fair and I should pay the rate. So, I did, because I was just getting tired of the whole excursion. (And in fairness, £27.50 for a telly — £20 for the taxi and £7.50 for the series of bus rides for Pete and I — is not bad.)

After three flights of stairs and a strained back, we finally have a television. Luckily there’s a plug for a roof antennae that works, and with the freeview all tuned in we’re ready to go. Oh, and get this. Mr ‘television’s not good for the soul’ is in the other room right now watching Family Guy. See, we’re already relaxing and hanging out. Well, I’m in the other room on the internet, and he’s hanging out, but still it’s working. Telly, the solver of all problems.

PS-My original idea of getting furniture off of Freecyle has been abandoned, because if I can’t get a television home on the bus, how am I going to get a sofa home.

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