ONE SUNNY Saturday last summer at the recycling depot, two well-dressed gentlemen stood ready to unload a decent-looking couch. Their friend was extracting a twenty from his wallet to pay for the couch to be dropped into the dumpster. The attendant looked eagerly at the bill.

A dumb bystander (hereafter referred to as “DB”) stepped up. The piece of furniture wore no dried puddles and there were no pizza, salsa, spaghetti or condiment stains on it. It was a bit faded. “Are you throwing that away?” (5 people involved to this point)

Yes.

Would you just as soon give it to the Boys and Girls Club?

Certainly!

I think the teens need some newer things because the Director just filled their hallway with furniture to be trashed.

Fine. (He closed his wallet; the attendant turned away.) Where’s the club? We’re from out of town.

DB thought, “We all know you’re from out of town because you don’t know what to do with a perfectly good couch,” but politely replied, “I’ll lead you there. It’s right up the hill.”

It took all three men to wrestle the couch into and out of the elevator. They set it on the floor outside the B&G Club’s door. It was extra heavy because it was a sofa bed.

Hands were shaken. Gratitude was given and taken.

The B&G Club Director didn’t want the couch. Their junk furniture was in the hallway because it was junk and because they had too much stuff already.

DB called a Northfield nonprofit organization that said they’d put out an APB to see if anyone needed a couch. (7 people involved)

A couple arrived who wanted the couch, desperately, for their family, which includes three very young youngsters. They wrote down their name and said they’d be back with a truck. (12 people involved)

The couch was a deep rose color, with a Fleur-de-lis pattern that includes a bit of gold and a hint of green—just the thing on which toddlers might take a nap. They’d look so cute.

Week one went by. Week two, three and four. The B&G Club Director requested that DB remove the couch because school was going to start. Teens began to use the couch for a backpack holder, (teens too numerous to count).

Week five was growing old when DB started asking people if they had a truck. A generous, handsome prince (truck owner) agreed. (15 people now involved)

The question arose: Did Couchless Family still need one? DB put in a call to MA, a person who might know.

I don’t know if the same people still want it but someone called me this morning to see if I had a truck to move it.

Really! (a glimmer of hope dawned on DB). Do you have a truck?

No.

Okay so where did they want it moved?

Gee, I don’t know. Call X.

X said she didn’t know anything about any of it but did mention that moving a couch would require a truck.

I have a truck! DB cried into the phone. I just want to know who wants this couch!

You could call Y. She may know.

Y said, Yes, Couchless in Northfield still wants it. But I can’t find a truck. (18 people involved)

Eight phone calls later it was arranged: Handsome Prince with truck, Couchless parent, and a teen would meet at two on Thursday to move the couch from the Gray Building to the apartment. Y and DB would rendezvous to trouble shoot, which, since the teen didn’t show, was required. A call was made to the High School, which resulted in two strong and willing men (20 people involved) from the buildings/grounds crew driving over to help manhandle the prize. They moved the couch moved from the second floor to the first. DB held wide the double doors, the couch was on-loaded, DB waved to the couch and the four good men and went home vowing to ignore the trash in other people’s trash so that she might live happily ever after.

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