Moving: Need a Man

Yesterday, at 6am, I drove to the local Uhaul lot, left my car, and drove off with a pickup truck pulling a UBox—Uhaul’s response to the POD. It was a lot of fun barreling down the avenue in a monstrous Tundra, the trailer swinging along behind me. The fun ended about 15 minutes after I started trying to back the trailer into a parking spot.

Don’t you dare laugh. The entire parking lot was barely wider than the ensemble that I was driving. I don’t think any male could have done better.

I eventually gave up, and decided to unhook the trailer and drag it into the parking spot instead. The guy in the UHaul lot had dragged the trailer. He made it look easy.

GRUNT.

Not happening.

But why was I insisting on doing this the hard way? Let’s face it: the easiest way to change a flat is with a tube of lipstick and a touch of mascara. I flagged down a passing knight and asked him to rescue me. He obliged, with some far more effective grunts. Okay, in this case a male definitely did better.

After that it was pretty straightforward for a while, thanks to my (friend’s) trusty Magna Cart—yes, it’s really called that, isn’t it awesome? I love using the name.

Stacking boxes inside a shipping container is a lot of playing Tetris in 3D, but with a few extra variables like weight and shifting potential. I don’t know why nobody’s made an iPad game of it yet.

I felt perfectly adequate for a humming hour or so…until I needed my car to get to work. The truck was cute and fun to drive, but the UHaul advert splashed on the side took away some of the style. Also, I was paying by the mile.  So I unhooked the truck and took it back to the UHaul lot to get my car, and after work, reversed the process. Then, when I realized that I’d left the mattress cover in the car, I went and did it all over again. I thought wistfully of how nice it would have been to get dropped off at the lot at the very start and eliminate all of this shuttling.

I went back to playing 3D Tetris for a while, but was soon struck with another difficulty: the couch. Even my trusty Magna Cart (yes, I will seize every opportunity to say “Magna Cart”) couldn’t handle the couch. I needed help. Luckily, I had cultivated a few friends during my time here in Downtown OOT—always a good strategy if you ever anticipate moving a couch one day.

Friends are also handy for when you need to hitch a truck up to a full trailer. This is a very precise maneuver that requires a second person standing behind your truck making inexplicable hand gestures and calling out things like “Stop—no, a little more—stop!—a drop more fenceward—no, a bigger drop—ooh, you missed.” And so on.

It was around 1am, when I was eating melted cheese and surveying all the boxes that somehow still needed loading—where did it all come from?!—that I took out my Rugged Individualist membership card and threw it over the fence.

“You know, I could really use your help right now!” I shouted at my future spouse, who happened to not be present at the time. Convenient of him, isn’t it? Hiding out until all the work is done.

This experience has convinced me that a unit of two is much more effective at tackling life than an individual, even  when the individual is supported by friends. For sheer efficiency  and ease of everything, everyone should get married.

I’m accepting applications for people interested in beginning before that UBox arrives at my new address in suburban OOT.

Thanks, Erlenmeyer Exploder for the geography of OOT.

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10 thoughts on “Moving: Need a Man

  1. Moved once from NY to OOT. Though married, hubby’s work obligations compelled him to stay in NY while my work obligations compelled me to move and feather the nest prior to his arrival. Even with family and friends in OOT, moving without a partner is NOT something I would wish to repeat. Needed someone who is fluent in “manspeak” to deal with the movers, who did not wish to deal with “the little lady”.

  2. I’m just remembering when I moved (albeit with my parents). My mother and I were the ones running around, screaming, and lifting, while my father pottered about and hummed. He has a bad back, see, so lifting was not happening. But he can direct.

    Dear God, my man better be partially bionic. I am done with the lifting.

  3. Princess Lea, you made me laugh. Reminds me about the time that the men in my life (hubby, brother and son) tried to move a couch from one level of the house to another. Well it got stuck in the stairwell, cuz the slope of the stairs was angled ‘just so’. They kept pushing and pushing and pushing. I watched, bemused for a while, then I told them to stop, turn the couch on its side, then push. It worked! They asked me how I figured that out. Simple, it was like birthing a baby! The baby turns to get under the narrow part, right before the last big PUSH. Mazel tov, it’s a couch.

  4. moved three times, all while newly married. first time, we both took cartloads but he did the heavy lifting (and i did the driving). second time, we hired packers/movers and i dealt with them (he dealt with them on the other end). the third time, we hired movers, whom i again dealt with, but he did the packing (none of it heavy). i’d so much rather deal with movers than pack or lift anything, which just means that, had i been alone, that’s exactly what i’d do. though the only time i moved while single, it was locally and i just swung by the parents’ every couple of weeks to pick up more stuff. and didn’t own furniture. but yes, i hate lifting and now don’t ever do it.

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