On the day of their move, Jeff and Mary were up early, ready for the big day. They expected a team of men to ascend to empty their house with a minimum of fuss.
An hour later two men, Les, and Stan whom Jeff thought too old in the tooth for this type of job, arrived.
“Okay Les, we should have no problems, although we might need an extra pair of hands with that piano.” Stan said, looking at Jeff.
“Okay, I suppose I could help you with that.” Jeff was unimpressed.
“Any chance of a cuppa, missus,” Les asked Mary.
“How about you get the big stuff into the van, then I’ll make coffee? She coaxed.
“Righto, where’s Jeff? We need him to help shift this piano.”
The old piano hadn’t moved for some time. There was much huffing and puffing.
“Jeff mate, just get your hands under and lift that end, so we can slide the trolley under.” Stan shouted.
“Bloody hell! My fingers, they’re stuck, lift it up quick!” Jeff squealed.
“We need a towel Missus,” Les shouted.
“Oh, God!” Mary saw her husband, lying on the floor, his hand stretched out, the end of one finger was missing.
“What did you do to him?” She shouted at the two men standing helplessly by the piano, stuck halfway out of the front door. “Get on with the bloody job, there should have been at least three men for this job,” Mary screamed. “Come on Darling, let’s get you to the hospital,” she patted Jeff’s face gently.
A week later, Jeff and Mary stood in their empty Sydney apartment.
“I loved that piano,” Jeff mused.
“I know sweetheart, but they’re well away by now with all our stuff, and we even helped them steal it!”