Fine. I'll help you with the other table. Well, it turns out that the fucking thing is DOWNSTAIRS, and we have to maneuver the fucker into the elevator. OK. So we do that, manage to close the door, and hit "2" for the short ride up to the second floor. Yes, just a short little jaunt, shouldn't take long at all . . . in fact, it shouldn't have taken even this long . . . Um, why are we stopped? And what's the deal with the door not opening?
Twenty flippin' minutes I was stuck in that blasted elevator holding that table angled up against the wall. You ever have to make small talk in a hot, stuffy elevator for twenty minutes while jostling for position against a piece of furniture? Of course you haven't. This stuff happens only to me. :P
All for a goddamn muffin top.