I take for granted that I will never have everything I need out of the apartment – or even packed – by the day of the move. Years of experience taught me this. So I had relatively little stress on Saturday morning when I realized that I had yet to pack:
- An entire bookshelf’s contents;
- An entire media center worth of electronics;
- The entire top shelf of my closet;
- Any kitchen utensils
I stuffed things into boxes until Rachel, Lisa, Jason and Kate showed up. Through a mix of delegation and brute force, we muscled the UHaul van full to bursting and rolled over to Davis Square just as the sun reached its peak. I’d thought ahead, of course, and had a fridge full of water in the new place.
Once all the boxes and furniture migrated up three flights of stairs, the five of us settled in to unpack in air-conditioned comfort. The five of us quickly assembled the queen-sized bed frame, stocked the bookshelves and unpacked the kitchen mess. “You are going to get so much ass here,” Lisa observed with child-like wonder. I can’t verify that prediction in the first 48 hours of residency, but I think the place has potential.
I treated the four of them to Redbones barbecue right down the block. A conversation about music soon led to a poll about the most recognized guitar riff, then to the most recognized bass riff, then the sexiest guitar riff. Despite some pretty intense debate, we all agreed that the Dead are terrible.
I spent the rest of the weekend in air-conditioned comfort, except when I didn’t.