COLUMN: Pedestrians be warned: columnist is moving
I had to move this week. And while I’m no stranger to pulling up my stakes and heading for greener pastures, I am not used to moving with a partner.
As a student, I have grown used to moving every semester. Whether the move was inspired by a rent hike, an expired contract or waking up to a live mouse in my shower, I could never manage to stay in one place for more than a few months.
Then I got married. My wife isn’t as keen on moving as I am, and so we’ve tried our best to stay sedentary. This plan has failed, however, and we have outgrown our apartment. At first I didn’t worry. I thought my years of experience in fitting my life into my vehicle would serve me well. I was wrong.
Logic tells me that if my pre-marriage possessions are represented by the mathematical variable X, the possessions of both my wife and I should equal 2X. This is a lie. It is a cruel fact of the modern world that getting married somehow triples the quantity of your stuff. And what’s worse, I don’t know what any of it is.
My first order of business was to load the TV. Once the TV fit, I was happy. My wife needs more to survive, though. I didn’t even know that we owned most of her necessary items, and I still can’t tell you what they are or what they do. It seemed like every single handful had me asking, “What is this?” and “What does it do?”
I have learned about lemon zest, about non-comedogenic lotion and why, when your face needs moisturizing, no other kind will do. I have begun to understand the depth of our closet and finally realize just why you need all three sheet/blanket things on the bed. All in all, it has been a very educational week.
But knowing about my stuff wasn’t enough this week. I’ve had to pack it all into our cars. Everything is just about packed, and while we’ve had to rent out a storage unit and throw away such valuables as my incense burner and my yellow submarine lava lamp, I’m pretty proud of how much I actually got to fit in my car.
I’m so pleased, in fact, I’ve taken pictures and am sending them along with my request for graduation to the civil engineering department. Space is so tight in our cars that driving to our new apartment is going to feel more like riding Sputnik. And I would like to give the drivers of Cache Valley fair warning, like those brave cosmonauts who piloted Sputnik, I have a very small window from which to do my navigating.
So should you see a silver Cavalier driven by a good-looking guy, don’t worry. But if you see a Cavalier with a slightly awkward kid behind the wheel, squinting through the piles of boxes and bags on his dash, pull over to the side of the road. I will hit you.
But, once I pass, if you’d like to follow along, I’m sure I’ll have some work for you to do. And if service isn’t your kind of thing, may I recommend going dumpster diving in Old Main Village? I hear there’s a pretty great lava lamp up for grabs.
Zach Pendleton is a senior majoring in
English. Comments and questions can be sent to zpendleton@cc.usu.edu.