Helpers

Today I delivered three bed frames, and had to dismantle another. The one I dismantled was a strange spring and pulley design circa 1986, and it took me a half hour just to figure out how to START taking it apart. And let me just take a moment here to thank technology for creating better, smaller, and most importantly, lighter stuff. The portion of the 80's frame with the motors on it was nearly the same weight as Greenland. Luckily I had a helper.

My helper's name was Bill, and I'd guess he was 3. When I was bringing my bed frame into the house (it comes in 5 pieces: Head, foot, knee, back, rails), he would announce each new piece as I came through the door. And each time I would step outside he would announce that as well. At least I think that's what he was doing.

He seemed to have his own little toddler language. When I walked up the stairs with the headboard he said, "Orph mas displader!" To which I replied, "Yep, it's a brand new bed." "Brand new bed!" he confirmed. He did this over and over. He'd say something in his native baby tongue, and I say something uninteresting like, "Yep, it comes in five pieces. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5." Then he would magically regain his command of the English language and perfectly repeat the phrase, "Five pieces."

After I had my frame unloaded Bill decided he should go help get grandma out of her ancient hospital bed. Bill's mom was using a Hoyer lift* to accomplish this, and Bill was a little over eager to pump the lift up to full height. His mom kept having to ask him to wait.

I stepped outside the bedroom until grandma was safely in the chair. (I like to wait out of eye-shot of the lifting process in case the patient is wearing something risqué, like just the plastic ring around their waist where the diaper used to be.) Grandma having been successfully transferred, Bill wandered out of the room, affected the most causal pose a 3 year old can affect, and asked, "how you doing?"

"Good," I replied, thinking that he had maybe watched too many episodes of Friends. "How you doing?"

"I'm doing cool," replied Bill, and went down stairs to color.

When I finished constructing my bed frame and was ready to take the old one down to the garage, Bill reappeared to help. His first inclination was to lift up the portion of bed which weighed 2 or 3 times what he did. I took that section instead and handed him the controller handset, which he was overjoyed to bring down stairs. As we hefted our loads down to the garage I complimented him on the amoeba he had drawn on his forehead while he was coloring. His mom was also impressed with his handiwork.

My final delivery of the day was another bed frame to a facility in San Francisco. I usually have pretty good luck with parking when I'm in my work van, but not today. Had I delivered the bed at 2pm, as I had wanted to, I would have been fine. But the nurse I talked to requested I wait until after the shift change, and consequently after the time when you aren't allowed to park in front of the facility anymore. As a result I had to roll 250 pounds of bed frame and railings, (long ungainly railings), and a large, unfoldable, mattress-sized mattress 1.5 blocks down a very steep hill. About half way down the hill a homeless guy asked if I needed help. Since I did, he got the job of steering, and I held onto the mattress and slowed our descent.

The whole reason I was delivering this setup was because the patient's family was being difficult and the facility asked us to bring some really nice, clean, new-looking stuff for her to use. So we carefully set aside our finest mattress, frame, and brand, spanking, new, not-previously-died-upon mattress cover. Everything was perfect as I started down the hill. But inexplicably, even though he was steering the far side of the bed, and the only thing he hung across the bed frame on his far side was a grungy sport jacket, he somehow managed to make a puddle of hamburger juice on the headboard.

Having no other option, I transferred the puddle of hamburger juice from the headboard to my shirt, thereby returning the bed to its previous pristine condition, and making it look like I'd dripped hamburger juice on my gut sometime within the preceding 10 minutes.

Of the two, I'm going to give the MVH award to Bill for his artistic ability and innocent but disconcerting use of sitcom pickup lines.


* I do not work for Planet Mobility.