I’ve decided to be lazy to save my sanity. I finally got the apartment that I’ve wanted for months now. Scratch that. I think I’ve wanted this apartment my whole life. You know those moments in college when you try to imagine yourself in your thirties? You think, “God, what will it even look like? What do I want in life? I think I want… to happen.” Then you have this slightly ambiguous list that involves a lot of general things. I didn’t want this specific address, but I did want an apartment that I could pay for on my own. I wanted a cute studio apartment for longer than anyone would probably guess.
This comes at a price though. I’m not even talking about rent and utilities. This will be the third time I’ve moved in less than a year. The first move, I relied heavily on family. I abused my parents’ and sibling’s and nieces’ and nephew’s love for me and made them help me move. I even abused the relationship I have with my brother-in-law’s father to get my bed from Ypsilanti to Chelsea. The second move, I took slower. Instead of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am all in one day move that nearly killed me and gave me a moving hangover, I moved progressively over the course of a month. I hated it. I heavily abused my friendship with my roommate to get my stuff to the new place. I was super lucky to have a coworker who lent me her boyfriend’s truck and his person to move my bed. I didn’t even have to seek them out. I can’t tell you how much her volunteering to help meant to me. I also can’t tell you how much it meant to me that they came even though I decided to move on the one weekend this winter where it snowed. My luck was awful.
The upcoming third move was left me feeling more blessed than I could imagine. I asked one friend to help and she gladly said yes. Another friend volunteered to help me move. Like every move, I worried about the bed. How do I transport a queen size bed when I drive a Focus? Inconceivable!
That’s when the laziness took root. I didn’t want to borrow someone’s truck or van. I didn’t want to feel like I was inconveniencing their life. I just wanted a vehicle large enough to move my things. And you know what? I don’t want to take eighteen thousand trips. Plus, dressers, man. They’re big. They don’t fit well into cars. You need a van or an SUV. Then there is the infamous Pink Chair that is holding onto existence by a very tenuous thread. I gave up. I had two people willing to help me move. I was going to rent a U-Haul truck. Screw it, you know?
You probably didn’t because I didn’t tell anyone. Don’t you hate it when people get aggressive about finder something cheaper than you have? I’m renting a truck. WELLLL, IIII rented a truck at this obscure place for way cheaper. WELLLLL, IIII think it’s a waste of money to move that stuff. IIIII’d find someone with a truck already. I. Don’t. Care. I’m going to rent a truck like an average American. I just got a raise. I would be happy to spend the extra cash flow on a vehicle I can guarantee will be there for me that day, and can guarantee will fit my furniture in it. So, stuff that in your piggy bank.
But it gets worse. I expected renting a U-Haul to not be cheap. And I was dreading moving my stuff up to the second floor of my new building. I was dreading everything. I’m exhausted. No human being should move as frequently as I have. I’m so done. In fact, I was so done my first name could have been John. That’s why, when my sister suggested that I check out Two Men and a Truck, I went, “Yes.” Hard yes. All the yes. Fun Fact: It’s not going to cost me much more to use Two Men and a Truck than to rent a U-Haul. Bonus Fact: They really do send you two men to load all your crap into a truck, drive it to your new place, and unload your crap into your apartment.
People already have told me that I could have found an EVEN CHEAPER company to go with. Or that I should have gone on Craigslist. (Yeah, that sounds stable.) I give not one fuck though. I have the money—something I never thought I’d ever be able to say—so I’m going to do it without shame. I’m going to pack, let complete strangers do the heavy work, and have my friends over regardless so that we can drink wine, unpack, and listen to music. And you know what? That sounds pretty damn blissful to me.