make a list of the most loathesome activities and moving surely makes an appearance somewhere near the top. i can say that to be true, both personally and for all those individuals who populate the p2p review sites, like gayot, tribe and yelp. there you find dozens of posts entitled 'best money i've ever spent' or 'absolutely worth it'.
heeding the advice of those experienced with movers and the voice inside my head saying hard labor is better left to others, i secured an appointment with the local faves, delancey street movers. in three hours -- including an unpaid lunch break -- they moved my stuff from my one bedroom in palo alto to the same in san francisco. i'm not sure they broke much of a sweat.
and therein lies the rub. while i loafed in a lawn chair basking in the peninsula sun, phoning my other bourgeosie friends to extol the virutes of hired muscle, i began to feel, well, a wave of femininity. and the feeling was only exacerbated when the most diminutive of the three movers tossed my dresser -- which i nearly slipped a disc trying to move in -- over his shoulder and walked, seemingly on a layer or air, down the stairs and to the moving truck.
"strong, isn't he," another of the movers mouthed to me. yes, he was. but something made me suspect something between the lines. i found a silent, "weak, aren't you" there.
yes i was happy to not be scuffing my hands while fumbling box after box, item after item of furniture. hell, i might get a splinter. still, what does it say about a man who, through hours of work where the only thing he moves are numbers around a spreadsheet, has sissified to the point where he cannot even move his own possessions?
all these thoughts crossed my mind as i sipped a glass of bordeaux while unpacking my belongings from the boxes -- so neatly stacked by those three blue collar fellows.
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