I bought an antique desk on Nextdoor over the weekend and last night Bevan and I drove the half mile from our house to Duboce Triangle to pick it up. Upon our arrival we discovered that the desk, a squat, chartreuse tank measuring four feet wide by two and a half feet deep, was stationed on the seller’s second-floor back patio that was accessible only by way of a narrow, low-ceilinged alleyway. It was during the hauling of said desk through said alleyway that the following conversation took place.
Me: Lower your end, Bevan! I can’t lift mine any higher!
Bevan: I’m trying, Corey! This thing’s heavy!
The Seller: Do you guys need some help?
Me (straining out a smile): Nope, all good! I said lower it, Bevan! Jesus Christ!
Bevan: Thanks for the offer though! You wanna do it yourself, Corey? I’m more than happy to let you try!
The Seller: How long have you two been together?
Me: A trillion millenniums. Tilt it to the right, Bevan!
Bevan: Seven and a half years. I am tilting it to the right, Corey!
The Seller: Do you live in the neighborhood?
Me: In the Castro. Dammit Bevan, watch the corner!
Bevan: Just above the flag. You watch the corner, Corey!
The Seller: That’s close to my office.
Me: Neat! Ow, Bevan! You could have told me there was a pipe behind me!
Bevan: What do you do for work? I would have, Corey, if you weren’t pulling so damn hard!
The Seller: I’m a therapist.
Me: Great! Walk faster, Bevan!
Bevan: A worthy profession! Walk slower, Corey!
The Seller: A couples therapist.
Me: Oh, neat. Lookin’ strong, B! Keep it up!
Bevan: Therapy is very important. Doin’ great, Core!