Much Ado about NOTHING

Labor

I thought I was on my way home from a simple errand. We were in the car when my wyfe got a text from a friend, a young woman who was moving from one apartment in our neighborhood to another, via U-Haul. "I'm all packed and ready to go," the text said. "Can you help unload?"

My wyfe read the text to me and gave me "the look." What was I supposed to say? No?

A few minutes later I found myself standing inside a truck staring at a small mountain of cardboard and plastic boxes, and various pieces of mismatched furniture. Just when I thought I was going to be emptying this truck myself, several more of the woman's friends showed up. Salvation.

When it comes to moving stuff, gender roles revert, more or less of necessity, to stereotype: The males started unloading boxes, bureaus and bookcases, and lugging them up the stairs to the second-floor walk-up apartment; the females supervised and arranged the "chowder" at the top of the stairs. (I discovered during my own move several years ago that professional movers refer to boxes and such as "chowder".) They also ordered pizza for when this ordeal was over -- yes, moving someone's home, no matter how small, is always an ordeal.

So, I got a slice of pizza, a beer, some party talk, and a sore back out of this little episode.

That how my Labor Day weekend went -- my manual Labor Day weekend.