Everyone admires Papi's handiwork. (AP Photo)
This is already late, and it’s going to be short and sweet on top of that. And there aren’t going to be any fun videos or examples of my sharp wit. Lefty and Righty are moving today, and things aren’t going particularly well. I’m writing this on my phone on the way to pick up our U-Haul.
Boston’s still playing well, and they have a chance to cap off August in style tonight against the Yankees. But playing well isn’t going to be enough to make any real noise. They hit well against acclaimed Mets phenom Noah Syndergaard, but it ultimately wasn’t enough to conquer Wade Miley’s current susceptibility to contact.
David Ortiz hit the 494th home run of his career in the 6th inning…
UPDATE: It is now like 20 hours after I started this post, and I was up till 6 a.m., and it’s likely that no one’s that interested in a recap of the Mets game that we lost.
Instead, here’s a timeline of our move:
All day up until 6 p.m. – Relentless, ineffective packing.
6 p.m.– Let’s go get the U-Haul! That won’t take long!
7 p.m. – Okay, we’re ready to pack the U-Haul!
8 p.m. – Gee, we sure do have a lot of stuff.
9 p.m. – First off, where in the name of all that is holy is our pizza? Secondly, we are screwed.
10 p.m. – Finally on our way over to the new place! But first, let’s pick up this couch from my brother’s old roommates and oh never mind, the pullout bed is made of jagged steel designed to drive mortal men insane.
11 p.m. – Progress is slow. The mood is grim. We are sweating very badly. I am developing several rashes.
12 a.m. – Why is this happening.
12:10 a.m. – One of our new neighbors from next door (not in our apartment building thankfully) comes outside and delivers this line to me as I’m standing there leaning on the last thing we took out of the U-Haul: “No. No. Ten minutes and that’s it.”
Me (sweating): “Uh, what?”
Him: “Something something you guys are being noisy something something Allston is THAT way (aggressive pointing gesture) something something I’m calling the cops.”
Me (depressed): “Wait, can’t we just talk about this – wait, stop calling the cops, don’t dial –”
Him: “Hello, yes, I’m a very angry middle-aged man. Instead of having a rational conversation with this young tired fellow, I’m calling the cops while he stares at me. It’s a really good time.” (Hangs up).
Him (to me): “They said to call 911.”
Me: “…okay. Well, we’re leaving, and we probably won’t be back for another few hours.”
Him (spluttering angrily at the idea of us doing any more moving, threatening to call 911 if he hears any more noise, walking back to his apartment): “Something something Allston is THAT way (pointing).”
Me: “What’s your name?”
Him: “I live at [address].”
[door closes]
Scene.
I am very depressed at this point.
12:30 a.m. – We head back to our old residence to clean up and put together our second truckload. It takes a long time. We are miserable.
2 a.m. (???) – We finish packing up. No one is happy. Everyone is unhappy.
2:15 a.m. – We double park the U-Haul and proceed to unload everything into the lobby of our apartment as quietly as possible. It actually starts to become not so miserable because it kind of feels like we’re playing Metal Gear Solid or Splinter Cell or some other sneaky video game.
4:08 a.m. – We officially get everything into the new apartment. Much whispered rejoicing.
4:10 a.m. – I flip the bird in the general direction of the mean guy from earlier. Well, his apartment building. Whatever.
4:30 a.m. – We bring the U-Haul back to the U-Haul Center. We then have some trouble getting an Uber but eventually we get one.
5:00 a.m. – We arrive at our new place. I start organizing my bed and get ready to pass out…until I realize that I left my backpack at the U-Haul place. I kid you not.
5:15 a.m. – I get in another Uber and head back to the U-Haul Center, where the early workers have taken my backpack inside. I am very, very grateful that nothing has happened to it.
5:40 a.m. – I get back home. I shower.
5:55 a.m. – Bed. Sleep. But only 2.5 hours of it. Ain’t life grand?
