So This Table Walks Into a Bar…

12 Sep

Over the weekend, I got into a fight with a bedside table. We were at a bar, it said something about my mother, and I just lunged… hey, we’ve all been there.

Okay, I wasn’t in a bar. I was in my apartment. And technically the table didn’t say anything about my mother. (But, if tables could talk, this one definitely would have been the type to make a “Yo Mama” joke and then spill a drink on my “day to night” ensemble.)

What happened this weekend was partially my fault, and partially the fault of the table. Let me start from the beginning.

One of the issues with going to school not far from home is stuff. Because my commute is relatively short, I feel the need to transport LITERALLY EVERY OBJECT I OWN from my house to my BU residence.

This is an example of a typical “Sophie Packs” scene: shirts? Check. Underwear? Check. Folders and pens? Check. “Okay parental units, I’m ready to… WAIT WAIT WAIT, HOLD THE PHONE. What was this little guy doing tucked in the corner? I CANNOT leave my quarter collection from the sixth grade! You never know when I might find the missing Missouri quarter. And WAIT, holy crap, I can’t forget about my Easy Bake Oven! Raw cookies made out of a plastic oven are the perfect weekend snack. I’m going to be that floor mate who bakes. Yay salmonella! Oh, and what about my eight grade report card? That seems like too important a thing to leave out, don’t you think? You know, if I ever go to a party and someone says, ‘I bet you didn’t pass Applied Technology in eight grade,’ then I have to be able to prove that yes, in fact, I did. And don’t even try to talk me out of bringing my Friends DVD trivia game. Not having a DVD player is NOT an excuse to be without a source of entertainment for any and all guests I may welcome to my studio apartment…Wow, thank God I took a second look.”

My parents are used to this routine by now. They know that “dropping me off at school” is a weeklong process… I’m pretty sure they both count it as a “vacation week” and then post fake photos of beaches in Bora Bora to their Facebooks so people don’t think they have the kind of needy, high maintenance daughter that would make them drive into Boston five zillion times to bring her “those socks with the pink frills” and “that button I dropped on my floor but really can’t live without.”

But just because I bring everything there is to bring doesn’t mean there isn’t also a need to buy everything there is to buy.

That’s where Bed Bath and Beyond comes in. My grandmother – who joined my mom on one of many “let’s bring things to Sophie” trips – decided a cardboard box would NOT suffice as a bedside table… the box was meant to be a temporary solution until I unpacked my Easy Bake Oven, which would have been a great bedside table. But then again, you know what they say: never place a book atop a surface where you cook kiddie food and shit. (I think that was Thoreau.)

Hence the table.

“This table is supposed to be easy to assemble and comes with very clear instructions and a tool kit!” my mom explained when she dropped it off over the weekend. “Do you need me to help you set it up?”

“Um, no, Mom. It’s called ‘feminism,’ ever heard of it?”

After my mom left, I opened the box that contained The Table From Hell and a million little pieces of white Styrofoam EXPLODED onto my bed and floor. I just kind of stood there for a minute like, hey, it’s Christmas! But then I remembered that my tiny vacuum wasn’t charged and that I’d most likely have to clean up the mess by hand…so I mentally unhooked the stockings from the chimney (with care).

Then came the directions. Before I decided I knew what I was doing, I did attempt to read the instructions carefully… But then my mind wandered back to the whole Styrofoam all over the floor concept, and all I retained from the directions was “Grab that srew-y thingy and stick it into this part and then twist that thingy ma jig and then KABOOM, you have a table!” This really IS user-friendly, I thought.

The only problem was that the “screw-y thingy” was nowhere to be found. Under my bed? No. Still in the box? No. In my hair? (When you have a mane that could keep a colony of chipmunks warm for the winter, you cannot afford to rule anything out.) But alas, the screw-y thingy was nowhere to be found!

Except for under my butt. Where I found it one magazine and 1.5 “upright naps” later.

With all the proper tools at the ready, my project evolved with lighting speed! The soundtrack from “Chariots of Fire” started playing and the sweet smell of victory – a combination of chai latte and chocolate cake – enticed my nostrils.

This was the result of my heroic efforts:

Image

What a beautiful, shiny, expertly crafted BACKWARDS TABLE. If you can’t tell from the picture, let me lay it out for you: basically, I managed to screw EVERY SINGLE LEG INTO THE TABLE BACKWARDS. Those little hooks on the legs of the table? Yeah, those are facing the wrong way.

The sound I made upon discovering my mistake was a little bit like this: mwahahah *&%$%^$^%$^%&^*^%&$%mwahahahaha. Basically the sound of a prisoner who escaped Sing Sing, only to be caught ordering a Big Mac at McDonalds a week later.

You can see why I would be upset with the table. And with myself. But I couldn’t very well throw myself across the room! So, I threw the table, instead.

Once I’d collected myself, I retrieved the table from the other end of the room, where it had been glaring at me like “what now, BITCH, I’m still kickin’!” I begrudgingly pressed “play” on my mental tape recorder, resumed “Chariots of Fire,” and re-built the table.

The end result looks like this:

Image

Isn’t that just adorable? (Please, feel free to boost my ego with table-related praise.)

I guess maybe I’d been too quick to judge the table. It couldn’t help that its packaging was messy or that its owner just didn’t have the attention span to give it the time and care it deserved. I guess we’re all doing the best we can with what we have.

Next time I see a bedside table at a bar, I think I’ll buy it a drink.

Advertisements

3 Responses to “So This Table Walks Into a Bar…”

  1. trinalazzara September 14, 2013 at 9:51 am #

    This is the most hilarious thing I’ve read all day! Well, I guess technically I mean in the past two days, as it is almost 3 a.m. where I am. *shrug* You are delightfully funny. Congrats on your table! I must admit, the ziggy stripes are pretty damn cute.

  2. alyssamichellefrench September 12, 2013 at 2:57 am #

    Hahaha Sophie you make everything funny!(: I love this! And that table actually is adorable…I’m kind of jealous because I also put mine up in reverse order (how one does that I’m not entirely sure…it had weird layers…) and it’s just boring and black.

    • sophpearl September 12, 2013 at 3:27 am #

      Thanks! Haha I’m glad I’m not the only one! Black tables are nice though – super chic and classy 😉

Tell me what you think!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: