The Odyssey

4/15/10 Couch, given away on craigslist

This may well prove to be the hardest downsize of them all.

I argued with Joanna when she first suggested that we should downsize the couch. It used to be in her father's office, and when we moved to Maine he offered it to us. Turns out it was made by the Hickory Chair Company in North Carolina. Go ahead, click on that link -- you'll be impressed by their stuff.

This was a high-quality couch. Comfortable and custom-made. Then our cats used it as a scratching post. Eventually, the couch made its way from our living room to the guest room (better known as The Storage Room).

Joanna said we should get rid of it. I argued that it was the most valuable single possession we owned (click on that link up there: Hickory Chair sofas go for three grand!). The compromise was that I'd downsize it, but I was going to make some money on the deal.

The clock started on September 21, when I took pictures of the couch and put it up on craigslist for the bargain basement price of $400. No takers. A month later I tried again, for $250. No luck. Time to switch gears.

I put it up on ebay for $50, pick-up-only. I got one "watcher" (you ebay folks will know what that means), but no bids. A few weeks later, I re-listed it on ebay for $25. Silence.

"Just give it away," Joanna moaned. I begged for more time.

Time for some psychology. People respond to deadlines, so I'd create one.

This time, when I put it up on Craigslist, I ended the description with this note: $25 or best offer received by Saturday, Feb. 27.

And someone responded! Yes, it was a huge loss, but I was going to get $25 for that dang couch after five months of trying. But then, the woman who replied to my posting said she had to get a truck. And then she had some kind of crisis. And then she stopped answering my emails. Another bust.

Still, the slight nibble made me think I was onto something. I reposted the ad on craigslist, changing the deadline to March 27. Nobody responded.

"I've got a former student who wants it. Let's just give it away," Joanna pleaded.

I was defeated. "Fine."

Joanna arranged with her student to come pick it up. There, it was done. The Great Coach Downsizing Quest was finally going to end. But, he didn't show. And he didn't return her emails. The couch remained in the guest room.

Clearly, the thing was cursed.

Now, Dear Readers, if you have been paying attention to the blog, there is one thing we have all learned: that when you offer something for free, suddenly people come out of the woodwork, knocking each other over to get it. Look back over the archives: I've put some serious crap up for free and had dozens of responses within hours.

I posted the couch for free on craigslist and waited for my email inbox to overflow. And waited. Two days later, I got a response from a lady who said she'd be interested, but she had to find someone with a truck. (Let's be honest, folks: when was the last time anyone "found" a truck. This woman was never going to show.)

Days passed. The couch was mocking me now, sneering at me in all its Southern superiority.

Then Stu came to the rescue.

Here's what I can tell you about Stu.
• He's living at his camp after divorcing his wife, and all he has to sleep on out there is a five-foot love seat.
• He has a heck of a big truck.
• He's got two buddies who look like hard-working, unpretentious guys. (One had a classic old Patriots satin jacket on. Cool.)
• He not only wanted the couch, he actually showed up to get it, loaded it himself, and thanked me a dozen times.

The final indignity came a half hour before Stu arrived.

"Jo, we need a family portrait on that couch."

I set up the self-timer on the camera, Joanna came down with Chase, and I prepared to grab the cats, who were both right there in the guest room. As you know from many previous downsize pictures, the cats are ALWAYS around when I'm ready to snap a photo. You can't keep these cats off of you or anything you are photographing.

So, fittingly, as I tried to grab them for the picture, they scattered, running away and hiding like they did that time... oh, no, they've NEVER done that. Yep, that couch was cursed. Screw the cats, we look better without them anyway.

And then Stu arrived.

In what is a personal downsizing record, after nearly seven months of trying, the couch is finally gone.

Stu, I am indebted to you. You certain got your money's worth.