The Trouble With Tables

Our lives revolve around food. We love food. We love sharing our food with others and we love when others share their food with us.

The only problem is that for the past two years Megs and I have lived in a place that doesn't have a dining room. This put a bit  of a limit on who could come over and share a meal with us ("Hey guys, you wanna come over and try our new stuffed chicken recipe? Yeah.. yeah.. just stand around the house and hold the plate in your hands while simultaneously trying to cut the chicken with a fork and knife. Yeah... on really fancy dishes, too. Oh, your busy... okay.")

But now we have a dining room. The only problem is that have never owned a dining room table. So I searched the internet and the world of craigslist in order to find a dining room table for Megs in time for our anniversary. We really wanted a round table, since it can fit more people and seems to make everyone more accessible in conversation.

I finally found one that was perfect. It wasn't too expensive, it was just the right size, and it was nice and sturdy. When I got in contact with the seller, she acted like I was a crazy person for calling her up and asking about her table. And she definitely didn't want me coming to look at it.

"What exactly do you want to know? Its an oak table, its very sturdy.... its in good condition..." Said the table lady, repeating exactly what was printed on the craigslist description.

"Uh, I actually just want to know when would be a good time to stop by and see the table," I said.

"See the table? Uh, well, uh... what day are you wanting to come and look at it?" Said table lady.

"How about Tuesday, I'm free all day." I said.

"How about in the evening?" Said table lady.

"Great, what time?" I asked.

"In the evening." Said table lady.

"Okay... so about what time is that?" I said.

"In the evening... how about 7:00. That way my husband and I can get home and get settled before you come over to look at the table." Said table lady, emphasizing the fact that she has a husband and that he would be home.

"Call when you are on your way and I will have my husband give you directions." Said table lady, letting me know I'm not going to get any address out of her, just in case I should want to come over, tie her up, kick her dog, and take the table for free.

I waited for three days, thinking about the table and how it would be such a great gift. (We would have such wonderful meals around it. It will look so good in the apartment. I bet breakfast tastes better off of round tables. I bet coffee stays hotter and blacker on oak.) Finally 7:00 pm on Tuesday comes around and I give table lady a call. Her phone is turned off. I wait for 20 minutes... no return call... phone is still off. At this point I'm upset because I want this table to be a surprise for Meghann and I had already concocted a great story for why I was going out so late that night. Now I would have to go back, empty handed, to a wife who was wondering why exactly I had to rush out of the house at 7:00 pm.

At this point I'm sure that the lady thinks I'm a no-good criminal who will steal her great grandmother's jewelry if she even lets me step foot in her house. So, to say the least, I figure she won't sell me the table. I wait for an hour and half and finally tell Megs about my plans to buy her a table and how it didn't work out and how upset I was because it would have been such a good table.

Five minutes later my phone rings. Its the lady's husband. He explains to me that they thought I was coming Wednesday night and that they didn't know I was planning on coming by on Tuesday. He informed me that he could squeeze me in between other people who were looking at the table the following afternoon.

Great. Yay. It's good news because I might possibly still get the table, but I feel like a moron because I ruined the surprise gift. At least table lady doesn't think I'm a no-good, rotten scoundrel.

As I am driving to table guy's house the next day, he calls me to let me know he is going to be a little bit late coming home from the office. So I pull into the nearest shopping center and wait for 30 minutes for table guy to make his way home from work. Finally, he gets home and I head over to his house.

I see the table.

I like the table.

I buy the table.

On my way back home, I drive through snow, hail, rain, snow/rain, hail/snow, and snow/hail/rain with the table in the back of my truck. When I get back to the apartment, I lift this huge, solid oak table, which is soaking wet with ice, off of my truck and onto the pavement. I then proceed to raise, balance, and shuffle my way up three flights of stairs with a massive, solid oak table balancing on my hip bone. By the time I get this hulking, solid oak table up the stairs, my breath has left me and my heart is racing in order to pump blood to my brain so I could register just how stupid it was to lug an incredibly large, solid oak table covered in ice up three flights of stairs all on my own (the farther and farther up the stairs I went, the larger and larger the table seemed to get... it got bigger, and bigger, and bigger... and did I mention it was solid oak?).

I then defied the laws of physics by stuffing a huge round table through a small rectangular door.

Then I collapsed on the floor, wondering if that stupid table was actually necessary.

I am typing this on my very own, round, solid oak dining room table. And I can say that it was very much worth the effort and I believe that it will bring years of joy from the meals that will be shared and the people that will live around it.

But it did come at a price -  primarily, my back.