These freakishly long legs and linebacker shoulders are not at your disposal.

With an exasperated sigh, I pulled out a screwdriver and took the door off its frame!





---

I have a fun little personality quirk wherein I always have to be right. It gets me in arguments, but thats OK.

At work we have five large tables with shelving, which have been recently replaced by newer, nicer versions. So the tables have been taking up all of the space in the back room. Juju was calling around to various charities, trying to find someone to take the tables. I told Connie that I'd love one for my living room, so she said I could have it. Juju said that if I wanted a table I had to take it today. I wasn't sure how I was going to get it home, in that case. Oh well, I wanted it and if I had to take it today then I'd do that. I measured the table and then measured my car, and determined it would work.

Ju would NOT let up about how she decided I couldn't take it today.

Juju: "It won't fit, so you can't take it."
Sus: "I just want to try."
Juju: "It's not going to work, so don't do it."
Sus: "How am I supposed to know it isn't going to work if I don't try?"
Juju: "I know it won't work, so you can't do it."
Sus: "How have you gotten anything done in life if you refuse to try things that may not work out?"
Juju: "It won't fit, then it will fall out on the freeway and you will call. I won't help you, because it won't fit in your car."
Sus: "I never requested your help."
Juju: "Who is going to help you then? They are heavy. You can't take it, it won't work."
Sus: "It doesn't matter who helps me. It will work, and it will be fine. Chill out, chica."
Juju: "It is bigger than George, it will never work."
Mel: "Who the %@#! is George?"
Sus: "George is my VW Beetle, who is a lot more spacious than Ju wants to admit."
...
Sus: "Hey, Connie, will you help me load the table into my car?"
Connie: "Hahaha."
...
Sus: "Hey, Nellie, will you help me load the table into my car?"
Nellie: "You're kidding me, right?"
Sus: "Apparently so."
Nellie: "Hahaha."
Sus: "You guys no longer get to use me for my height or brute strength. Need me to lift something for you? Nope, no can do. Need me to reach a shelf for you? NOPE. You can fend for yourselves, shorties. These freakishly long legs and linebacker shoulders are not at your disposal."

I was so annoyed that everyone mocked the idea of me loading the large table into my car, and driving across town with it. It only made me want to prove them wrong more than before. I'm always right!
So as soon as I was off the clock I reminded Mel she said she'd help me, and together we loaded the (very very heavy) table onto a dolly and headed toward George.
I had 'cleaned' out the back (ahem, shoved everything to the passenger seat), and laid the back seat down. Mel helped me maneuver the table upside down and into the back of George. (I had a plan all mapped out in my head; I'm nerdy like that. I enjoy figuring out how things will work, how it would have to be angled for the easiest entrance. My dad says I'm like a guy in that I prefer figuring out the logic to things.)
I hadn't reallized there was a bar between the legs of the table, so my measurements were a titch off. It was fine, though. The table fit in far enough that it was wedged, and did not exceed George's bumper.

So, I drove it home and things were fine. (SO THERE!) I backed into the driveway and hoisted the table out of the car. I worked it all the way to the door when I realized the doorway was was being blocked by the door! A few more inches and I'd be in the clear!
My roommate told me I probably needed to go through the front door, rather than the garage door. Whatever. Just to be sure, I checked. NOPE, too small. I asked, "How big is the back door?" She stared, quite flummoxed, for a few minutes...uh..."Back door? You mean the sliding glass door?" Hmmmm, lessee here...sliding glass door is a door that happens to be at the back of the house...and is the ONLY door at the back. Could that be what I mean by "back door"? Hmmmm.
I measured the back (sliding glass) door, just a few inches off as well. Dang it! I had gone through all of this disbelief from everyone only to be proven wrong, I could not actually get the table into my house.

SO! With an exasperated sigh, I pulled out a screwdriver and took the door off it's frame! The table slid perfectly through the newly expanded doorway. Yay.

I went into my bedroom to change my clothes and pull my hair up (ugh, sweaty hair!) and came back out to find my roommate struggling with the door! Ugh. Why would I meticulously place my tools into OCD categories on the counter if I wanted someone else to come by and screw things up by messing with it and not doing it nearly half as well as I would?
She said, "It was too short, so I tried to put a phonebook under it." Ugh. Being the always right genius that I am, I set the door into its place (propping it on my foot and stablizing with the doorknob) and got it back on in less than five minutes.

Umm, I'm totally easy to live with. Yeah.