Handle With Care

A few weeks back, NZ, Sal and I walked down the road to our local B&Q. B&Q is the Chinese equivalent to Lowe's or Home Depot. Our mission:

1. Find a patio set and large rug.
2. Arrange Delivery.

Ready to head into B&Q

We walked into a familiar warehouse looking store ( which goes to show that we spent way too much time at Home Depot back home), and made our way past air conditioning units ( ahhhh, cool air) and towards patio furniture. Nick and I eyed the same one, making the choice an easy one. We usually have the same taste when it comes to furniture, making shopping quite easy and quick.

We also found a rug.

Okay, great.

Now what?

Find an employee to help us.

Found employee.

Doesn't understand us. Calls for backup.

Store manager arrives.

Speaks English ( spoiled Americans!) and helps us through the checkout process.

One catch.

In order to schedule delivery to our home, NZ must provide them with his Chinese name.

In Chinese characters.

Whaaaat?

We don't have Chinese names yet.

A quick call to our translator, "Irene" and she rambles off information to the checkout girl in Mandarin and the world is a happy place again. The delivery men will call "Irene" when they are ready to deliver our items...and she will in turn call us.

This, my friends, took over an hour. Standing at the customer service counter, arranging for delivery to our apartment which is literally 3 blocks away. Everything in China takes longer. I'm sure the fact that we speak English and don't understand more than a handful of Chinese doesn't help.

Delivery scheduled.

We head back home.

Sal's exhausted from all the lovely ladies coming up and touching him and his golden hair.

He passes out and mama's left with a dangler on her chest, which evokes more stares, because why does white woman hang baby from backpack? is baby alive?

Please, my fellow Wuxiians, don't touch the sleeping baby.

Take my word for it.

He's still breathing.

The 3 block walk home was just too much for this guy. Out cold.

So, on Tuesday morning, Irene calls me and tells me our delivery is on its way.

Like a kid on Christmas morning, I can not wait to get our furnishings and set them up.

The intercom rings, I buzz them up.

Two smiling men hand me an invoice with a pen.

Sign here, points the man.

So, I sign.

They lug the box in.

What the.......???

This box has seen better days

I take it back, I don't want to sign for this!

This box has seen better days. Did it fall off the back of the truck or what?

I charade for them to stay and wait till I can inspect it, and the man waves the invoice in my face with my signature, as in, "Ma'am, I won't take it back. You signed."

I start thinking about what my ol man will say when he gets home to broken "new" furniture.

Oh me, oh my...

..

..

Oh wait.

It's all intact. ( thank gawd!)

Not a single scratch.

Phew!

And doesn't it look great out on our patio?

Ahhh, a place to sit and relax. If only it wasn't a zillion degrees and humid.