The Ruination of Moving Day ...

I believe it was Plato who once said, "There are three things in life that are the most stressful: The prospect of death, the prospect of life and the prospect of moving." Well, maybe he didn't say that, but it's pretty close to the truth. This is the true story of my latest moving experience ... no pun intended.

7:30 p.m. -- The Day before the Move

Everything is set. I've got Slapp, Lunchbox, my uncle (my dad's brother), my other uncle and his two teenaged kids, D.C. and dad. Granted, dad has back issues and can't lift anything heavy. Now, including me, that comes out to about nine people. This does not include Bing, who had to work. I'm not going to complain about Bing not being there for the move (yet). He's been there all the other times, so he got a "Get out of Moving Free" card for the day.

Everything that happened that day is entirely his fault, however.

Granted, I have not packed as much as I should have at this point. Waited until the last minute? Well, you can say that. My plan was to pack my ass off once I got off from work around 11 p.m. that night. Everyone wasn't going to show up until around noon the next day anyway, so I should have time. I don't have THAT much stuff.

Then Slapp calls.

"Dude, mind if I go ahead and come on up tonight?"

I'm a little annoyed at this. I have a LOT of packing still left to do, not to mention cleaning up and had not planned on this, but I can't say "No, dude, don't come" because then I run the risk of Slapp not showing up. This really is the first time Slapp is been a part of the moving experience. Every other time, he's was always "conveniently" out of town or doing something else. So, with Bing not being here, I was glad to have him. So, I'm thinking that if I say I'm working late, he'll come up the next day.

"Slapp, I'll be at work until around 11 p.m. or so ... so ....."

"So, what, I should leave around 10 then?"

There was nothing I could say. Slapp was coming, so I did the only thing I could think of to do at the time.

"Hey Lunchbox, think you could come up tonight?"

I felt like an ass for doing it to him, especially because I know he's always there when we need him, but I could hear in his voice that he really wasn't planning on coming up until the next day. But, the deed was done. Slapp and LB were both coming up tonight and my plan is now to work Slapp like a rented mule once he gets here.

11:30 p.m. -- Same night

I arrive at the apartment. LB is already there waiting for me. I call Slapp.

"Slapp, where are you?"

"What? Oh, I'm here at Bing's."

"What do you mean you're at Bing's?!? You told me you were leaving at 10???"

"Yeah, I left Flo-town around 10."

Wanted to kill him. Earlier in the day, he called me to say that he might not be coming because a girl he wanted to hook up with was going to be in town and so would her sister ... just before I started cursing him out in a foreign language, he starts laughing, saying he was only kidding. I'm going to kill the boy before it's all said and done.

LB and I plow into the work. Two things happened. Either stuff got thrown into a box or stuff got thrown into a garbage bag. At the time, I thought that half my apartment was going in the trash ... I was SO wrong. Before it was all over, I thought we had moved my apartment, Slapp's apartment, Liberace's apartment and the Vatican into my new place. At least Pope Benedict blessed us as we were moving.

Slapp shows up around 1:30 a.m. on the day of the move and proceeds to join the chorus of "Box, trash, box, trash ..." We end up going to bed around 3:30 or 4 that morning.

Now, I couldn't sleep. Again, moving day is extremely stressful and I'm still not done packing. But I planned on waking up around 9, giving us three hours or so to pack up and get stuff ready to move. Nine rolls around, I wake up the boys.

12:15 p.m. -- Let the influx of people come

At 12:15, the only people sitting in my apartment are me, Slapp and LB. My father just finished washing a two year old who's soon going to be his step-grandchild ... but that's a bitter tale for another bitter time. He tells me on the phone they're on the way. They? Oh yes, his significant other has to come. Now, my father's brother and my father's significant other do not get along. That's about to come into play.

I continue to call my uncles, looking for someone, anyone. Nothing. I call D.C., who's stuck at an airport in Atlanta and he's having to deal with a delay, so he'll be here around 6 or so. Slapp has to leave around 4 to head home. It's getting bad.

1 p.m. -- My conversations with the Juduses

I finally get my uncle on the phone.

"Dude, where are you?"

Now this is my favorite uncle. My uncle who's never let me down. My uncle who, earlier in the week, promised he be here to help with the move.

"Uh, I'm in Spartanburg."

Nice.

"Why are you there? You're not going to help me move?"

In short, he's not showing up because of my father's significant other. She's going to be there, so he's not. Lovely. On top of that, my dad calls and says that he spoke with my other uncle, who's working and he has no idea where the boys are, but they were supposed to come by some time to help. Wow, in that short period of time, my herd of movers had shrunk to 3.

By the way, did I mention it was raining all day long, with brief periods of drizzle? I'm about ready to seriously hurt someone, something.

4 p.m. -- PIVOT!

Okay, after figuring out that no one was going to show up to help, my heavy-ass couch was next on the bill. And yes, we had to lift it up a flight of stairs. So, the plan was for me and Slapp to lift and push the back end, while LB guided it up front. Now, bless his heart, LB had given his all up to this point. His shirt (I'll never understand why he wore jeans and a golf shirt to move, but hey, whatcha gonna do?) was completely soaked from top to bottom and he, like the rest of us, was already exhausted. But we get this gianormous bohemeth to the top of the stairs. LB decides to rest the couch on a ledge and slide underneath the couch to the other side to guide it in the apartment. Unfortunately for LB, just as he got underneath the couch, it fell on top of him. Now, I was immediately worried about this. When I said I was going to work them to death, I didn't mean like this. Maybe losing it while moving boxes or something, maybe, but not having a couch fall on them.

"I'M OKAY."

It was a statement that sounded more like he was reassuring himself than the rest of us, but it was still enough for us to panic. Finally, we get the couch off of him and hoist it into the apartment. LB collapses on the floor for a good couple of minutes and I start planning out the quickest route to the hospital. Slapp quickly fixes a sandwich and calls it a day. He takes off, leaving me and LB at the apartment with dad and his significant other. That's okay, D.C. should be here shortly.

The significant other proceeds to tell me that the guest bathroom is the master bathroom and that I'm picking the wrong room. Now, the boys know that the last time this sort of thing happened, it was from the bitch of a mother of my ex-girlfriend. I didn't take her crap then and I'm certainly not about to start now. But, I was too tired to have an argument, so I just ignore her.

8 p.m. -- Slowly becoming the day that would not end ...

Dad and "her" have left for the day. Leaving just me, LB and D.C. Now, a little aside about D.C., or "The Straw" if you will. D.C. reminds me a lot of Bing, but I gained an assload of respect for him after this day. LB and I had pretty muched turned it off. I mean, our tanks were well below empty. However, D.C., like Patton, swoops in and starts to direct everything. Every trip, we grab as much as possible and pack as much as possible into either his SUV, my truck or LB's Sherman tank.

12:05 a.m. -- Day is done ... too bad the moving isn't

D.C. takes off. Everything from the old apartment is out with the exception of the computer desk, the kitchen table, and a box or two. The apartment needed cleaning, but we could handle that when we picked everything up the next day. For the next couple of hours, LB and I get stuff situated.

2:45 a.m. -- Jesus, help me ...

I've been going now for almost 18 hours. I can barely do anything. All the energy I have left, I summon to take a shower and it was the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced. Afterwards, I collapsed on my bed and literally passed out. No mention of "Will you all stop screaming, you're ruining moving day for us," or "Pivot, pivot, pivot!" as is custom during a move. This wasn't what you'd call a fun move.

The next day, LB and I finish up at the old apartment, damn near killing ourselves on what turned out to be a much heavier than anticipated kitchen table. My apartment complex decided to charge me an extra $25 for leaving at 3 p.m. I thank them so much and leave without making a scene. $25 is a steal when they see what's left of the apartment.

So, as always, I owe so much to the folks who helped me move. There's a special place in hell for the ones who bailed on me ... right next to the dental hygienists who take pleasure in making you bleed.

And again, just so everyone understands, all of this ... was Bing's fault.