I’ve been scouring the pages of craigslist for the perfect dresser for a few weeks now. I wanted something low and wide, with good lines, for under $100. Dressers are common on craigslist, but the cheap ones move quickly. I really didn’t start taking my search too seriously until this past week. I had some cash in my wallet (a rarity for me) and a low-key weekend ahead. The perfect storm for being able to snap up a good dresser.
I spotted what seemed like a great one on Friday. It was the right size and shape and I liked the looks of it. Plus, it was only thirty bucks and the owner said I could come pick it up anytime the next day. He told me it was located at an antiques shop in Denham Springs, a suburb just outside of town.
Have you ever been in a situation where you felt completely mislead about the distance to a location? I knew from Google mapping the address that it was north of Denham, a little bit on the outskirts of town, but the GPS told us to keep on driving long after I thought we would have reached our destination. Before we knew it we were in an entirely different parish. We pulled over and I called the number from the ad, expecting them to laugh at me when I told them we’d blindly followed the GPS all the way to St. Helena, but the woman who answered the phone cheerfully responded that I was almost there! Just another mile up the road.
The couple who runs that little shop in the middle of nowhere were some of the nicest, most cheerful people we’ve ever met, but I gotta admit the whole place was a little sketchy. Piles and piles of stuff stretching out into the parking lot. $800 antique china cabinets hidden beneath hundreds of knickknacks and whatnots. I’m pretty sure they live there. There was a small gas stove in one corner with dirty pans sitting nearby and I caught a glimpse of a mattress on the floor in a little alcove behind the desk.
The dresser we were there for was outside, piled underneath even more stuff. You couldn’t even really see it through the clutter so I busied myself putting the seats down in the back of our car while Nick helped the shop owner unearth it. By the time I got my first good look at it it was already in the car, and I was not impressed. The wear and tear on it were much worse than I’d anticipated. But by this point we’d already invested so much time and distance that I was hesitant to walk away. When I went to pay, they told me they’d knock the price down from $30 to $25, even though I hadn’t complained about the condition at all. They both had seemed endlessly charmed by my big belly, so maybe it was some gesture of goodwill toward the baby boy we’d told them we were purchasing it for.
Without further adieu, here he is. All twenty-five dollars worth.
I’ve never referred to a piece of furniture in the masculine before, but it seems fitting.
He needs a lot of work.
The drawers are dirty, and one even contains a suspicious looking piece I suspect will have to be put back where it belongs (wherever that is).
I figure if I start working on it and end up over my head I’m only out $25, and I may even be able to recoup the expense by reselling it. But I’ve got high hopes of fixing it up and painting it a deep navy blue, ditching the gold knobs and pulls for something more my style, and filling the freshly-cleaned drawers with teeny tiny baby essentials. Lucky for me I’ve got three more months to get it done, because this is definitely the most damaged piece of furniture I’ve ever tackled.