The Great Staircase/Flatbed Thanksgiving Adventure of 2010

This Thanksgiving, I certainly had something to be thankful for: I spent my last night in my house before my big move. This weekend, I'll be going to Berlin with Valentin for a weekend vacation planned back over the summer before most of these problems began. However, I did not spend my day in typical Thanksgiving style. I woke before the sun, went out to lab where I ate breakfast and brushed my teeth (I really prefer avoiding my house as much as possible these days) and then I went out to pick up some cute folding chairs I'd found on ebay from a local seller. The people were so kind and had great smiles. When they found out I was moving, they even offered me some extra kitchen supplies for free. The young married couple had their own move underway, headed off to Polynesia for justice law. Their apartment wasn't beautiful nor big nor in the greatest part of town, but they seemed just genuinely happy. It was a stark contrast to the BMW-driving, penny-pinching landlords of my house who seem to have permanent frowns glued on their faces. I left, arms full, struck by two ideas : 1. there actually are nice people in Paris, and 2. money can help you solve your problems, but worrying too much over it can truly sully one's character. It's important to balance financial responsibility with generosity and perspective: money ≠ quality of life. This I say as I find myself literally emptying my bank account for moving expenses which by French law I should not be bound to pay. Nonetheless, I've decided to let go of insurance battles ongoing since the summer in order to just move on with my life.

After dropping the chairs off in my lab office for temporary storage, I began my project of the day: Purchasing a new staircase to access the attic bedroom from which I will be moving on Monday. (This staircase collapsed in mid-July during a normal descent one morning. It has been precariously supported by the handle of a broomstick that my landlord put in place ever since as we duke it out via our insurance companies.)

My staircase to access my bedroom broke in mid-July. Though I'm not legally responsible to replace it, I am legally bound to my housing contract until I can find someone else to take my spot in my house and I don't know (nor do I feel very right trying to find) anyone desperate enough to move into a bedroom which requires climbing this staircase on a daily basis.

My landlord "repaired" this staircase with the handle of a broomstick. He won't pay to replace it.

Problem: most repairmen ask for something in the range of 1000€ to 2000€ to replace a staircase. I just simply did not have enough money. Solution: a pre-cut staircase kit from a hardware store, a worker willing to take down the old staircase and replace it using the kit at a reasonable cost, one can of varnish, an old sheet, and a paintbrush. Having already arranged for the worker, I had to figure out how to get the staircase to my home. Originally, Valentin and I thought we might manage between the two of us and public transport. After all, between the two of us we've moved mattresses, springboards, armchairs, and dinner tables through the metro. However, upon realizing that this staircase was nearly 12 feet long, we admitted that we had to come up with a Plan B. Home delivery of the staircase cost more than the staircase itself but by chance we noticed that the store offered truck rentals by the hour. With a product this big, we'd have to take out a flatbed and neither of us had ever managed anything bigger than a minivan. As I have never driven stick, the lot fell to Valentin and the adventures began.

In order to get a replacement staircase to my house, Valentin and I had to rent a flatbed truck... and neither of us had ever driven anything bigger than a minivan.

We managed to drive our flatbed all around Paris. The only hardware store with a staircase in stock was a bit north of Paris and my house is just southwest of the city, so we had a long trip. The skies were ominously dark as we arrived in my town of Malakoff. Within five minutes of our placing the staircase kit in my basement, rain began to pour. Given that the wooden staircase was quite poorly wrapped in plastic, I found myself counting my lucky stars while worrying a bit about the road ahead: the sun was getting low in the sky, the rain was coming down heavier and heavier, road visibility was poor, and suddenly it began to snow. All the while, we were doing our best with no directions nor technological aid to retrace our steps. We managed to get minimally lost and returned back to the hardware store, saving 80€ by renting the truck rather than opting for home delivery.

Returning to the city via public transport, we were damp, cold, tired, and very hungry. The previous night Valentin had only slept 3 hours as he'd had a nightshift at the hospital and I'd gotten 4.5 as I had some time-consuming final packing up to do in my bedroom. Though it was 7pm and Thanksgiving at that, we'd each only had time for a small breakfast around 8am before the great staircase adventure began. We bee-lined for a boulangerie-pastisserie for some French pastries which we ate on the spot and then we went grocery shopping in our best attempt to still recognize the holiday. Our menu included a salad with mixed nuts, dried fruit, and raspberries, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes, chicken (year 3 of Thanksgivings overseas and I still haven't managed to get my hands on a turkey... but I swear, just give me one more year), French bread with Saint Marcelin cheese, Beaujolais 2010 wine (the wine that is released in France every third Thursday of November) and French pastries for dessert. Finding a home in which to eat was the day's final challenge: my place was not an option and Valentin, homeless for the moment, didn't quite feel right inviting me over to his family friends' place where he's been crashing. We started our feast at my desk at the Pasteur where I've been eating most of my dinners for the past couple months. Fortunately, the daughter of the family who's hosting Valentin finally answered her phone just as we'd started digging into our cheese. She said she'd be happy to celebrate her first Thanksgiving with us, so we packed up our things and headed over. Her parents are off spending this week in America. Around 8 or 9pm, the three of us sat down, filled our glasses with wine, started cooking the corn and potatoes, and toasted their first (and my twenty-fourth) Thanksgiving.

I hope you all celebrated a more relaxing and very happy Thanksgiving!