plasterboard
I came home yesterday with a ton of plasterboard and some construction materials in my veranda. At first it seemed that some mysterious benefactor had just dropped off a bunch of paintings, but when I lifted off the plastic coverings all I found were humongous pieces of plasterboard, wooden panels, metal rails, and a bucket of some — I don’t even know what they’re called. Man, I was weirded out! I searched for a delivery form and found it attached to one of the panels. I dialed the contact number on my mobile phone and the man said he’d call the next morning. (He did not.)
Then about half an hour ago, when I was shaking my ass off to CSS whilst happily slurping my ramen, this dude who lives around the corner came and apologised. He lives at number 86; I live in 75 and I have it nice and huge by the front door, so I don’t understand how they could have screwed that up. Right now he’s moving it all piece by piece. On his own. I reluctantly offered to give him a hand, but I suppose he didn’t trust me because I looked shady in my disheveled hair and pyjamas.
