I lived with three friends in an apartment in the Washington Heights neighborhood of New York City (of
In the Heights fame). We had decided we could use another bookcase in our living room, but since none of us had a car, a Craigslist find within walking (and carrying) distance of our apartment was our only option. I found a promising posting and went to check out the bookcase with a few (female) friends. We went into the apartment, where the individual rooms were padlocked in the locked apartment. The bookcase was populated with random toiletries, some clothing, and not a few beer cans (no books in sight). But, still, it looked like it was in great shape and was exactly what we needed. I asked for the price. The owner said, “$60.” I said, “$40.” He looked down at me—I’m under five feet tall and was at that moment wearing four-inch wedge platform shoes—and my friends and offered, “50, and I’ll carry it for you.” Not to be taken as incapable, I said, “40, and we’ll carry it ourselves.” He agreed (with a skeptical smirk) and told his roommate (whose bookcase it apparently was) to get his stuff off of it, at which point I had to plead with my friends to help me carry the bookcase the seven blocks, including a steep hill, home. We made it—much to the amusement of some passers-by who stopped to gawk, offer to help, and root for us—and Billy (as we referred to him from there on out) became a beloved member of the apartment. We even hung up a family picture from the Ikea catalog of some other Billy bookcases so he wouldn’t be lonely. Three of the four of us have since moved out of the apartment and to different cities, but Billy remains a fixture of that Washington Heights apartment.
