But I suppose the Couch Doctor is a little less obscure and pretentious. 
Giangrande is obsessed with his cases and talks about them constantly at home. “It’s very annoying,” Holly protested, in her Long Island twang. “We’ll have plans to go somewhere, and then he gets an emergency call and I get dropped like a hot potato.”
Giangrande, who has the build of a bouncer and the work ethic of a heart surgeon, said, “It’s very exciting — you have to make a call whether a job can be done, and it’s not always clear.”
Like in the case of the $30,000 white leather sectional. Giangrande’s crew did an initial assessment and decided the two 90-inch-long pieces of the sectional couldn’t be easily taken apart — and they didn’t want to risk ruining something so expensive.
At 9 that night, Giangrande drove from Long Island to the Upper East Side of Manhattan to take a look for himself. “There were complications,” he conceded. “There weren’t the usual seams, and it had buttons pressed into the leather. That’s why my guys got intimidated. That’s where I came in.”
There’s a bit early on in the piece that talks about sofas held together with bolts that can be quickly wrenched on and off; I know of a friend’s sectional sofa that tends to come apart on me as I turn over in my sleep; I think it would do well with a quick but sturdy latching system.
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