The HOME DEPOT incident.

I have a new kitchen stove! Finally.

The deal was: Tom splurges on a plane ticket to Florida to visit his brother and I stay home. I spend the money my ticket would have cost to replace the 22 year old electric range. Yes. This would make me happy. DEAL!

Should probably admit it's a bit of a FALSE DEAL, as I will never fly and the only way I might suffer death by aircraft is when one falls on me. What with our house being under a direct flight path to Bangor International Airport, this can not be ruled out.

Except the bargain was struck a couple of years ago and there have been 2 flights to Florida now. And then things kept coming up that pushed my desire for a new stove to the back shelf. Like college tuition payments, broken septic system, worn out Jeep pickup replaced by a loan for a Wrangler. (Which I LOVE driving. Every other Wrangler driver waves to each other as they pass in the street. It seems to be an actual rule that every Wrangler driver knows.)

But, you know? More important things than replacing a crappy stove that still works.

ENOUGH. Off to Home Depot I go on the last day of their recent 10% off sale on ALL Appliances. Yes. I would have my new stove. This day. Screw the list of things trying to push my new appliance to the back of the line again.

Of course there were none in stock. No problem. I can wait a little longer. It took about a week and a half before the call to came to pick it up. The "free shipping" actually costs $60 and they rebate only $55 of it in 6-8 weeks. No thanks! Dad has a truck.

Dad also has a golf match, but says to take the truck and go get it yourself if you want. I want. Mom tags along for the ride.

So we wait. And wait. For someone from Appliances to fetch my new appliance. Finally out strolls a tall skinny man of retirement age pulling a trolley with a very large box marked RANGE. (And a number of other foreign words, which causes me to reflect that once again I have unthinkingly purchased a GE appliance, probably made in a third world country. By slave labor. I'm sorry. But not sorry enough to send it back and search for American made. If there is such a thing any more?)

For the record: The first words out of my mouth to the tall skinny man of retirement age pulling a trolley with a very large box marked RANGE was, "You ARE going to get some help?"

I think he may have said something like "I'll see" as I lead the way to dad's very tall truck. The next thing I knew the tall skinny man of retirement age pretends he's Superman and can lift really heavy stoves over his head.

All by himself.

As the trolley rolls and the box lists to the left I THROW MYSELF under the really heavy box to prevent it from hitting the ground. Too hard. One corner kind of clunks to the ground with a thud. I am NOT a happy shopper of appliances this day! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? I thought job safety was number one with this company. I've seen them wearing back braces for lifting watering the freaking plants for crying out loud.

Young buff man (who could have been hiding an S under his street clothes) witnesses the near destruction of my precious cargo. Talking on a cell phone, he tells his party to hold on a minute and helps put the box in the truck. He probably could have done it himself. I thanked him as he returned to his conversation about too much drama last weekend. Tall skinny man of retirement age assures me stove should be fine; just bring it back if there's a problem. Drama is not the half of it, if when I get home there is even one scratch on this sucker.

It's been two days now cooking on my wonderful new appliance. I think I've cooled off enough to have a little conversation about lifting/job safety with the manager now.