Sunday at 9am, our super-efficient movers arrived. These guys were, like, serious. The one guy wrapped all our furniture in blankets and some special… movers’ wrap?… before the two of them carried it out, and the whole thing took less than 1.5 hours.
Ok, so you’re like… um, yeah? That’s what movers do? Know-it-all.
I only hired movers once before and they definitely didn’t wrap my then Ikea furniture and they were way more expensive. Anyway, I was impressed. They’re called Bee Moving, Inc. if you’re interested.
Before I left, I ran into this older lady from down the hall that I sometimes see when I’m leaving for work in the morning.
Lady: You’re moving? Getting out of this dump?
Me: Oh, yeah… we’re moving in with my dad to save some money, so…
Lady: Good, you’re young. Get out of this dump.
Me: Um, yeah… kind of…
I didn’t know what to say to that.
For the record, I’ve never called this building a dump but it is kind of crappy. But I’m young/sometimes-broke and living in the second-most expensive city in the US (and working in the first-most) and I’ve only ever lived in crappy apartments, so I’m used to it. I’ve just always been grateful that this building doesn’t have mice or rats (like my Hoboken and Morningside Heights apartments, respectively).
And I didn’t want to be all… yeah, the building in which you are continuing to live is a dump… but she seemed pretty determined that it was and I didn’t see the point in arguing.
There’s more to this moving story but to jump ahead a little, my dad is having a plumbing problem so we’re camping out in Brooklyn for the rest of the week, then next week we’re crashing at my mom’s while she’s away.
Everyone I’ve mentioned “plumbing problem” to has had a similar reaction, so I won’t be offended if you made this face…