I guess this is the apartment I am going to die in...

...because I am never moving again. Never. You couldn't pay me enough. The following is an unexagerrated recalling of this weekend's big move across town:

1) The U-haul was smaller than anticipated, and was required to be back by 3. Considering that we had reserved the freight elevator at my new building for 2-5, this was a problem. Fortunately, we were able to shift the reservation from 1-4, but regardless this made timing difficult. More importantly, the ability to make 2 trips was compromised severely, even though the reduced size of the vehicle might necessitate the second trip. In addition, the do-rag wearing gentleman who broke this news to me was a rather unpleasant and unhelpful fellow, responding to my initial request for the vehicle, simply saying, "no" with no further explanation offered. In addition, he mentioned a price per mile of $.89, whereas the actual price was $1.29. I was not pleased. Fortunately, I live relatively close to the place, and I plan to many a drunken night pee all over the building.

Further, my sprightly young vehicle (it only had 186,000 miles on it and knocked incessantly) was rather comical in its appearance. On the side of the door, lost amidst the scratches, dings, and gashes, there was a message suggesting all the great features of the van that included "A/C, Radio, Cloth seats". Of course, the A/C was broken, but whatever, that is to be expected. My real question concerned the "Cloth seats". I mean, what was I to expect, metal ones with spikes? Or were we people going to think, "hey, I wonder if that beat up U-haul van is upholstered with leather or satin?". I mean, come on. We know the thing is a piece of crap, let's be honest. What was the alternative to "cloth seats"? "Now with functioning brakes!"?

2) I chose the hottest weekend of the year to move. I actually saw the external thermometer in my car get up to 102 degrees. This was not pleasant, to say the least. By the end of the weekend I was so dehydrated that I may have scarred a child for life. The Resident Female and I went into the store across from the zoo to purchase a gallon of water, and I was looking at the bottle for the brand "Volvic". Unfortunately, I was somewhat delirious and apparently incapable of reading cursive, and I said in a rather loud voice, "My God! Why would anyone name their company Volva?" A nearby child proceeded to say, "Mommy, what's a vulva?" Needless to say, the mother was not pleased. I was so ashamed that I bought a bottle of gatorade instead.

3) I broke my neighbor. Offering to help my move, my lovely neighbor Ms. Jo Dee Profanityi (that's right boys, she single!) was assisting me guide my futon onto the back of the truck. Unfortunately, the top of the wooden frame started to swing down and she tried to grab it before it smashed into the side of the truck. Alas, her pinky finger found its way into the general area of the hinge. This was not a good thing. Let's just say I heard a loud crunch that I originally thought was the futon's frame breaking, and later realized it was her finger gaining an extra joint and turning into a giant purple sausage. This kind of put a damper on her mood; however, a shot of morphine, a cast, and a soft-handed doctor later, we finally got Jo back into her normal and jovial self.

4) Having lost Jo and the Resident Female to the emergency room, I had to awaken my Friendly Neighborhood ColOmbian from his previous night's drinking binge and enlist his help in the move. With the truck finally loaded, I proceeded to thank him for helping by running several yellow lights on the way to the new building as he followed on his motorcycle, forcing him to curse me many times over, shaking his fist in the air and saying, "Damn you!" Luckily, he didn't just say "fuck it" and abandon me despite my dickheadedish actions. In my defense, I would have stopped at the lights, but the damn U-Haul (fully loaded) slowed down about as well as a freight train and handled like Kevin Millar trying to field a grounder.

5) At last getting to the new apartment building, I was treated to the fact that the freight elevator I had reserved for the next several hours was out of service. Fortunately, the freight elevator is very close to the two main elevators for the whole building. Unfortunately, one of those was also out of service, having broken down about 45 minutes before our arrival. As such, we were required to move all of my stuff in the one working elevator that was servicing the whole building, sharing it with everyone else. On top of this, the concierge cart was MIA. As my Friendly Neighborhood ColOmbian would later inquire, "What exactly is it that you reserved?" Needless to say, with it taking about 25 minutes per run and only being able to fill up half the elevator (and having it stop at every other floor), the going was very slow. Of course, the building services people called their elevator technician straight away, and he fixed the other elevator right as we finished hauling all our stuff (we had one piece of the bed-frame left to move when he found us and told us we could have the elevator). Oh, and the concierge cart? We finally got it just before 10 pm, even though we asked for it a little before 1. Of course, we could still use it then because we were still fucking moving. This was in part because we were only able to make one run with the U-Haul, necessitating roughly 78 cross-city trips in my car, finally calling it a night around 11:30, knowing I had to make another 5 or 6 trips the next day.

6) Also, I got rebuked the next morning for not returning the concierge cart, even though I needed to use it all morning, and I wasn't trusting them to get it to me when I came back with each load from the car. Personally, after they screwed up a) receiving my rent check b) my move in and c) having several track lights out in my apartment, I think I deserved a little slack, but whatever. Although I would suggest that, you know, maybe a wait-list or a preference system for the thing in the future when someone is trying to move in with a sole elevator. That, or maybe coming up with some sort of pulley system from the balcony.

7) On the plus side, I still have to unpack.