Sister Jan flew in for her spring visit last week, and we decided to go to Victoria to check out the digs at Bee and Peter's new home in Oak Bay. And what a charmer it is - a beautiful 1930's Tudor-style cottage tucked away on a quiet, hilly street, quite close to the ocean. The kids have been incredibly busy combining two households into one, as well as moving Peter's office from one end of Victoria to the other. And just because fate wasn't done taxing them, Bee also needed moved her office into a new location as well. Their minds had been bursting with configurations, measurements, color swatches, decorating hints, and wondering whether or not the beds would make it up a very narrow and steep flight of stairs (they did, but only thanks to the mover's expertise and extra-strength hernia belts).
As you can imagine, it takes a fair amount of planning to combine two households, and even more culling out. This is inevitiably followed by the fun of a shopping spree, and so it passed that on the same day that Jan and I were to arrive, so was all the new furniture.
Bee tore around with great excitement and waited for the delivery truck, which finally showed up in the mid afternoon. The two guys that were in charge seemed to be in a great hurry to unload and get moving, for reasons unbeknownst to anyone. And so when the beautiful new couch presented a logistical problem to maneuver into the living room, they proposed to simply leave it sitting in the hall, so Bee could deal with it on her own. All thousand pounds or so. Then the fridge was hastily tucked into the garage (one look at the staircase and it was pronounced impossible to move it into the downstairs area). The other bookcases and entertainment centre were simply missing in action. They didn't know where they were. Not their job. Maybe phone Sears and find out where they are, they suggested helpfully. And then Mr. Sweaty Panic said he thought his truck might be leaking diesel, and he wanted to get going, and fast. So he did. Leaving Mr. Perplexed Swamper behind, scratching his head in Bee's living room. "I guess I'll go and take a bus home", he finally concluded.
Not long after this, Jan and I arrived and we were just lifting our first glass of wine and beginning our tour of the house when suddenly, Bee looked out the window and noted the entire Oak Bay Fire Department was out there on the street, including their beheamoth of a fire truck which somehow got maneuvered down the tiny little road. Half a dozen firemen were busy dumping bag after bag of kitty litter on what seemed to be a river of diesel fuel, which was cascading down the road. Several concerned neighbours looked on. There were a few fingers pointed directly at the house, and we hurriedly ducked away from the window. The fire chief knocked shortly after that, and Bee gave him the details of the dastardly delivery company and their stinky trucks. Her cheeks were blazing as she apologized to a rather surly chief, who obviously had better things to do than supervise his crew spread kitty litter from one end of the street to the other.
It was a relief when they were gone, and when Peter came home we entertained him with the story. Bee had already called Sears, who had called the delivery company, who had called Bee back to apologize and and assure her that it would never ever happen again and they would send their very, very best, academy award-winning driver and swamper the next day, as soon as Sears found the missing pieces. Which they did. True to their word, they telephoned in the morning and gave us the head's up that the new delivery was imminent.
Two fellows, obviously well primed on the recent circumstances, arrived with ingratiating smiles and efficient muscles and managed to deliver the rest of the goods without much of a hitch. We were all grateful for their expertise and when they left, we decided to celebrate with a much deserved walk and a bit of a driving tour along beautiful Dallas Road.
We arrived home a few hours later and as we rounded the corner our hearts sunk into our boots. Because there was the fire department again. With all the guys. And even more bags of kitty litter. And also the Town of Oak Bay truck was there, with an official man in a hazard vest, who seemed to be directing the operation. The neighbours were out in full, all looking sourly at the house. Turns out that truck #2 had the same digestive problems as truck #1 and spilled its guts all over the existing kitty litter, as well as adding a whole lot more.
Rain arrived that night, transforming the remaining litter and diesel into an interesting substance that resembled porridge and barfed-up dog food.
Bee and Peter continue to use the lower access road to return home, preferably under cover of night. Welcome to Oak Bay, neighbour!
