June 7, 2006
My advice to anyone moving, or even thinking of moving: Don't. Stay where you are. Your sanity and your back will thank you later for it.
My fiancee and I moved from our apartment to a townhouse recently. We've both moved enough times to know better, but we did it anyway.
It never used to be this bad. For the first few years, moving was easy. Moving from dorm to dorm, and even to my first one-bedroom apartment, I was able to fit everything into my Honda. I could see out the rear window, there was that much space to spare. Later on, the stack of material possessions I owned grew to the point where I wouldn't even have been able to spot a moose standing behind the car. And that was a real risk when I lived in Minnesota.
The idea that all of your earthly possessions are crammed into about 100 cubic feet of space and is hurtling across country (or just across town) at 60 mph is scary. If you get into an accident en route, any number of objects, from an iron to a houseplant to a Clay Aiken CD, are ready to take out your head. And you run the real risk of having the new neighbors see your SpongeBob boxers as they fly out of carefully latched drawers. I don't own a pair. Really.
The moving experience only goes further downhill when you buy furniture. My puny Honda was not up to the task of carrying awkwardly shaped office chairs and a kitchen set. No sir. Once I acquired furniture, I had to rent a U-Haul truck.
The truck I rented on my cross-country trek from Minnesota had 160,000 miles or so on it. It made strange noises. The “check engine” light turned on somewhere in Wisconsin and stayed on for the rest of the trip. With my car strapped to a trailer on the back of the truck, I could make a U-turn in the space of about three football fields and couldn't go backward. At least not easily. I apologize to the hotel where I had to run over some plants after I got stuck in the parking lot. There was no other way to extricate myself.
Because I'm a glutton for punishment, I again rented a U-Haul to move into the townhouse. Again, I got one with about 160,000 miles on it, and this time, the noises were worse. At every stop, I had to ask my friend, who was following behind, if any parts had fallen off. At least I didn't have to tow anything this time. The plants in the new complex had nothing to fear.
While furniture is nice — you can sit on it, sleep on it, eat off it — moving it is why I'd rather just stay put. The adrenaline rush of ditching your old digs for something nicer quickly wears off after two computer desks, a kitchen table, a bookcase and a TV. It's when the adrenaline is gone that you start to notice the herniated discs. Ow.
The genXchange column runs every other Wednesday. Ahmad is a copy editor at the Press & Sun-Bulletin. Write to him at wahmad@pressconnects.com.
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