I used to think there was nothing worse than helping someone move. You have to lug around big, heavy boxes which may or may not contain fragile things and carry around these unfamiliar things and put them in unfamiliar rooms. There are multiple trips to and from places that aren't yours and at the end of it all, the only thing you have to show for it is a sore back. At least the other person has a spankin' new pad to enjoy. Sure moving sucks, but moving for SOMEONE ELSE is even worse. And I thought there was nothing more hateful than helping someone with THEIR sucky job.
But there is something worse than helping someone move: Helping someone move when you really don't want that person to move in the first place.
This weekend, I reluctantly agreed to help Claire move out of her house, which is like 10 blocks away from me. She's lived there for years and then just like a couple weeks ago, she's all "Hey, got a new job offer. I'm moving." And I was like "To where? St. Paul? Some other Minneapolis suburb that will make it only slightly less convenient for me to come and watch Revenge with you?"
She's like "No, South Carolina."
Exsqueeze me? Now I'm no geography whiz, but I do believe South Carolina is an entirely different state that is no where near Minneapolis. Or even the suburbs. I have been reeling since Claire's far too-casual announcement. Claire and I have been friends for more than 20 years. We lived next door to each other growing up, last year I lived WITH her, and after that, I could only manage to move 10 blocks away. Needless to say, we have been very close. And what, now she's leaving to South Carolina? What the frock?!
To add insult to my emotional injury, Claire asked me to HELP her move some stuff out of her house and into her mother's house a whole month before she goes all Sweet Tea and Nascar on me. I hesitated. I didn't want to enable this move. In fact, I was still completely in denial that it was even happening. If I didn't see her moving out of her house, it wouldn't happen.
But I knew it was my job, as a BFF, to help her move. I was like "Fine, I'll come over. Maybe we can just move Christmas decoration boxes or something." When I walked into her house, I nearly reached over and punched Claire in the face for such a brutal reality check. There were boxes packed up EVERYWHERE. Her closets? Empty. All the pictures on the wall? Packed up. Even the refrigerator magnets we made out of beer bottle caps were gone. It was terrible. She's renting out her house while she's gone and they are moving in this week, so a lot of the furniture is still there, but all the "Claire" was wrapped in newspaper and packed away. IT SUCKED.
This is a tough move for her, too, obvs. But really it's mostly tough on ME. Who will I hang out with on Saturday nights when I don't feel like showering? Who will I go to Michael's with in search of crafting ideas on a Sunday, or use for cable? MYSELF?! It's the worst, you guys! THE WORST!
But being the great human that I am, I spent a few hours with her moving her boxes, packing her clothes and Tetris-ing her Christmas decoration boxes into my car. And while I considered secretly moving boxes back INTO her house when she wasn't looking, Claire was being very grown up about the thing, so I decided to try that too. We moved a bunch of stuff and I didn't even cry until I got in my car to go home.
I mean, I guess the good news is that I still have a key to the place. Maybe the new people moving in will be cool with me coming over and letting myself in to watch Sons of Anarchy and dig through their closets for a cute dress to borrow. If not? Well, I may have to see if there are any places to rent 10 blocks away from her in South Carolina...