It all started with an idea.

About three Sundays ago I looked around my man cave, hereafter referred to as my apartment, and decided it needed a refresh. Things were grim. While I appreciate a masculine sensibility of style (I am a man, after all) my apartment resembled more a fraternity house television lounge than a well-appointed man space. There was work to be done.

I decided to start with the living room, which mostly meant replacing my ratty couch and buying a couple chairs. Now, the couch wasn’t always ratty. I can attest that, at the beginning of its life cycle, it was actually quite attractive and comfortable. Enter Brody the Aussie. Brody, for reasons not fully understood by either of us, decided the couch was a good object on which to practice his digging skills. Over time, I and others have tested various techniques to allay this bad behavior, but the dog always seems to devise a work-around with which to foil my defenses which, ironically, included spreading foil over the cushions. I learned quickly, however, that the shiny covering didn’t faze him in the least. Nor did a hand-built wall of couch cushions. Finally, I tried a Scat Mat and found the slight electroshock quite effective—when I remember to use it.

As an aside, let it be known throughout the land that Brody does not attack the couch when I’m around which, to me, proves he knows it’s wrong. It’s when I’m not home that he can’t seem to stop himself, sort of like someone who smokes when they drink. Once I’m out the door, the couch becomes fair game.

Back to the living room refresh.

I knew exactly what I wanted in a couch and started with Amazon but, despite having a gagillion sofa choices, nothing jumped out at me. Admittedly, I was simultaneously watching the Bengals game, but believe my multi-tasking skills sufficient to where I can watch a football game whilst couch hunting on the interweb. Regardless, I found nothing suitable, and set my laptop aside. Lo and behold, during one of the many breaks I was treated to a commercial for Wayfair, a company that, until that moment, I was convinced operated mostly in the homemade craft space. I was as surprised as anyone to discover they sold furniture.

I reopened my laptop.

Eureka! It took me less than ten minutes to find exactly what I was looking for and ten minutes to order my new furniture. Go Wayfair!

A sectional couch and two leather chairs.

And the nightmare began.

Via a link in a Wayfair email, I was given the ability to track my new furniture as it made its intrepid journey, which started in a warehouse in Georgia. According to the tracking information, my new furniture, purchased on a Sunday, was picked up in a town called Richmond Hill in the aforementioned state of Georgia, and its arrival was set four days later. At first, everything seemed hunky dory. On my computer, I watched as the furniture dithered between one Richmond Hill warehouse and another but, no matter, soon it was on its way to Independence, Kentucky, which happens to be about half an hour from my home. Given the short distance left to travel, surely I would have my furniture in a matter of hours! In fact, I was so convinced it would soon appear, I arranged for the timely pickup of my old, ratty couch.

And then I waited.

I waited for a whole day.

I checked the tracker. The delivery had gone off the rails.

My furniture was, inexplicably, on its way to Menlo, Iowa. Now, at this juncture, it may be helpful to point out that, geographically, Independence, Kentucky is a LOT closer to Cincinnati than, well, any place in Iowa. There could be no explanation but that the FedEx driver had gone rogue. How else could such an incompetent logistical accident have occurred?  My couch and chairs were headed west.

I did not take this lying down. I called the Wayfair helpline.

Me: Yeah, hello. I’m just trying to figure out why my furniture is headed to parts unknown.

Helpful Service Agent: Yessir. It looks like your order is being transferred to Iowa.

Me: (Trying not to sound angry) Yes, I can see that on the tracking tool. My questions are “why?” and “can you get the truck turned around?”

Helpful Service Agent: Well, I don’t know why. And, no sir. We can’t turn the truck around.

Me: (Was my head exploding?) Well, what can you do?

Helpful Service Agent: Hmm…I’m not quite sure, but I will email a supervisor and get back to you as soon as possible. Is that alright?

Me: What choice do I have? Thank you.

And what choice did I have? The Helpful Service Agent was doing her best but clearly did not have her finger on the pulse of Wayfair logistics. I could only mourn for my furniture, which by now had to be feeling terribly lonely and forgotten. I waited for a response (which never came) and, for the next eight days bore witness to the nationwide travels of my new couch and chairs.

And travel they did!

Having made their way to Iowa, my hobo-like furniture moved on to Sydney, Nebraska; thence to Washington Terrace, Utah; thence to Tacoma, Washington; and thence to Troutdale, Oregon. At this point in its travels, it appeared my wayward furniture decided it’d seen enough of the big, cruel world, turned on its heels, and headed back east. It was time to come home.

In (sort of) quick succession, the errant explorers shipped out of Troutdale for Holbrook, Idaho; thence to Sinclair, Wyoming; thence to Minden, Iowa; thence to Indianapolis; thence to Greenwood, Indiana; back to Independence, Kentucky; and, finally, to my front door. A total distance of 5,274 miles or, for metric types, 9,210 kilometers.

No worries. I assembled everything soon after reception and, other than the extra pollution, wasted time and wasted money, everything is fine. As you can see from the picture, the furniture is assembled, and Brody the Aussie is quite comfortable.

Now, I just need to find that Scat Mat. . .