I remember when, just before Christmas, my oven stopped working properly. The burners were fine, but the actual oven wouldn’t heat over one hundred and fifty degrees. 

It was ham and turkey time as we were hosting the family holiday. Off to shop we went.  

While speaking with the appliance salesperson, she asked, “Do you want the old oven taken away for a $50 fee?” 

The oven is metal and worth money to a scrapper, not to mention my trash company will pick it up if I call ahead. That made me curious. “So, who pays to have a stove removed?”

“Mostly the elderly. They don’t want the hassle and appliances are heavy.” The cute young thing raised her eyebrow. In hind site, it probably wasn’t a challenge, but I’ll swear until my deathbed the lady had a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

The cute blonde may as well have been a matador waving a red flag at a bull. My pride meter shot straight up into the red zone. “Nah, I’ll remove it myself.” I mean, how hard could it be? 

When the new oven arrived I unhooked my old one and used my red dolly to get it out the front door. It was heavy but manageable. Still, I needed to get it down three concrete steps.  

The stove had three large metal grates on the top. They were heavy, so I left them where they were, assuming they would not move. Yeah, I should’ve probably thought that one through a little more. 

You know the old saying. ‘Assuming makes an ‘ass out of you and me’. Well, I’m your ass. 

When I pulled the stove down the first six inch drop, the nearest grate popped off and hit my left elbow giving me a funny-bone ‘zinger’. *%#@$!

Now I’m on the middle step, knowing full well that there are two more ‘attack’ grates waiting to jump me, but I have no free hand to grab them. It’s all or nothing time, baby.

Bam! Down the second step goes the stove along with the second grate. I shift my elbow for a near miss. The idiot’s grin slips from my face as the grate impacts my left knee and leaves a bruise the size of a grapefruit. *%#@$!

Okay. One more step and I’ll be done. Here goes. Bam! 

The six inch fall is followed by the third grate jumping free to create more mayhem. 

I had anticipated the assault and shifted my elbow and left leg in a ballerina move that would have impressed Anna Pavlova. It was well-played as far as the grate missing all my body parts. Unfortunately the red dolly’s wheel landed on the big toe of my left foot, leaving it black and blue. *%#@$!

I also unskillfully managed to twist my lower back when shifting my weight while doing my ballet maneuver. Further *%#@$!

I still needed to take the stove down the hundred yard pot-hole accessorized dirt driveway. Upon reviewing my injuries, and the deep darkness of the night, I turned around and went back in the house and went to bed.  

I awoke hurting. Pretty much everywhere. Once outside, I dollied the stove to the end of the driveway like a soldier navigating a minefield.  

Every athlete or physical laborer can tell you what happens when you baby injuries by putting extra stress on other body parts. Yes, I pulled a muscle in my right shoulder. *%#@$!

Okay, let’s check the scoreboard. I injured my lower back, bruised my elbow, bruised my knee, smashed my toe, and pulled a muscle in my shoulder. All to save $50.

The following day I saw a scrapper loading up the devilish stove that had beat the crap out of me. Enjoy it you *%#@$!

Next time, I dont care who's chumming the water for sharks, I won't bite. I'll swallow my pride and pay the $50. 

Footnote: 

I told the installer that I had a twenty year old GE stove in my finished basement and didn’t look forward to taking that appliance up the stairs when it broke down.  

He told me he would bet money that the new stove he just delivered would break down before the old one in the basement did, because everything they’re making now is cheap junk.  

So, I have that going for me.