I thought I was well-past the age of being expected to help my friends move, but I got roped into assisting an old college roommate who was moving to California last week. I honestly thought of it as an opportunity to enjoy a break from work and cold weather, find a beach and get a little tan, but what I had hoped would result in a short vacation with a little work involved turned into a quest to find a chiropractor in San Jose after a grueling six-hour stint of hefting furniture up three flights of stairs.
I should have known I was in trouble when I was the only one of four friends called to help that actually showed up, but my friend had already managed to get her furniture moved out of her old place and into the rental truck we would be driving to California. I can’t say that the drive was terrible, but the seats in the truck weren’t exactly comfortable and the bumpy roads already had my back aching.
What put me over the edge, however, was a large sleeper sofa. We had already wrestled a queen-sized mattress, heavy wood dresser and an assortment of tables, chairs and boxes up the stairs, but purposely avoided the sofa sleeper haunting us from the back of the moving truck. I think we both hoped some good looking muscle men would magically appear and volunteer to carry the sofa up the stairs for us, but that didn’t happen and there we were, two flights up when I felt my back go out on me.
That last flight of stairs had me searching for a chiropractor in San Jose and an icy margarita. Thankfully, I found both and after a quick appointment the following morning, my short vacation was saved with a little adjustment and another vow to never help anyone move ever again.