Moving brought to mind Hans My Hedgehog: “I have worn through 3 pairs of iron shoes walking the world to find you”. Well, I believe that I wore through [wore out?] 8 backs, as well as keeping a couple other people busy doing non-lifting things, getting my truck packed. [My apologies if my counting is off–I’m not intentionally omitting anyone.]
Along the way, I learned a few things:
It’s great if your parents know you’re stopping by to grab some stuff while they’re out of town; but it’s the neighbors who aren’t out of town that’ll be calling the cops. And, if you decide to rob a place with the brazen pull-up-with-a-moving-truck-like-you-belong-there technique, be sure to do some research first, so you can flawlessly rattle off enough info about the occupants and their current whereabouts to minimize suspicion. It’s helpful if said whereabouts are sufficiently vague and/or remote that calling to check in with them isn’t very plausible. Sharing a surname with the occupants is also very useful. I’m pretty sure that last bit is the real reason they didn’t demand better proof. And I forget that not all families are the same–that the police do, in fact, need to ascertain that I have permission to take stuff from my parents’ house, because I could be there illegitimately.
I knew that unpacking was easier than packing, but, wow: 12 person-hours of unpacking the truck; 43 person-hours of packing, I think–i wasn’t paying very close attention to when people showed up or left.
“I can lift that” isn’t the same as “I should lift that”. Unfortunately, at that point, I was all alone in my parents’ driveway at midnight, so I either did it myself, or not at all.
Hand trucks are very useful for moving things around, even fairly heavy things. They’re useless for lifting things up (as in, to set on top of something else).
Paper stock matters! A large banker’s box full of papers? No prob. A large banker’s box full of paperbacks? Doable. A large banker’s box full of full-color glossy-stock books? Just too damn heavy.
Eat when someone notices you haven’t–don’t wait until you’re actually hungry.
A loaded truck is governed much more by physics than mechanics. It was actually really interesting how much driving that truck was more like riding my bike, than like driving a car. I noticed even the slightest inclines, and could barely keep it at 60mph up any sort of rise–slopes I’d never noticed in all my years of driving and busing over the same stretch of highway dozens, if not hundreds, of times. But, conversely, going down those same slight, normally-unnoticeable slopes could get me up to 70+mph–while increasing my in-the-moment MPG.
There was a little gauge on the dash, prominently displaying MPG in non-numerical terms. And some verbiage extolling the virtues of efficient driving, trying to get me to minimize fuel consumption. Well, first of all, it was clearly a moot point at highway speeds: it’s a big box, not exactly aerodynamic. And the gauge indicated as much–except for the aforementioned downhills, it hovered around the green/red boundary, or was into the red. And that was despite me very conscientiously trying to keep the engine from racing or otherwise working too hard. And, really, I have to question the emphasis on “efficiency” or being “green” when the end result is in the 7.5-8MPG range. Those numbers are probably why the gauge doesn’t have any numbers. Not that I was expecting anything phenomenal–it’s a big box with wheels, carrying several tons of stuff. But I sorta expected, oh, maybe 10MPG, so I was a little shocked that mostly staying in the better half of the gauge’s range didn’t even mean double digits.
I don’t understand how these muscles got sore. I wasn’t lifting anything with my neck. [Now, why every other muscle in my body is sore–that’s obvious.]
WOLX can be heard past Sparta.
And, finally: there’s always another box. I literally lost count of the number of times that I thought we were done, only to realize something had been forgotten, or overlooked, or still needed to be packed. At the end, i finally just decided to call it done–the truck was full, and if I discovered something tragically overlooked, I’d deal with it somehow.