Last year I got a call from Fred who was looking at his dream apartment on the upper upper west side in a twelve story building with two smallish elevators.
Fred is a serious musician: he has a Yamaha baby grand and it has to move where he does.
For the really serious cases I carry a cardboard cutout of the piano to check if the piano will fit.
The elevators were too small to fit the piano and the stairs were extremely difficult if not impossible to negotiate.
The elevator looked brand spanking new and the super did confirm that the old one was slightly bigger.
This particular building is a half block long and has other entrances down the block and a light bulb came on in my head (it is pretty dim these days) I asked the super if the elevator in the other part was still original.
It was and my cardboard piano did fit, the only problem was that the buildings only shared access on the roof. The elevator brought us to the top floor but not to the roof the road to the roof went through a particularly nasty double flight of stairs up and once we were on the other side the same ugly stairs down. So what! The customer was happy and we got to swear like men while looking at the George Washington Bridge a stone throw away.
The reason why I write this now is because Fred just called me and said that he was moving out because he hated the apartment and could we move it again.
You would think that this time it would be easier. I am here to tell you it was not!
But again we got our aggressions out and had that lovely view.