I will just try to push this out of my mind
May 23, 2008 / 11:52 a.m.
I've been unloading a huge Ryder truck stuffed full of my grandma's pack-ratted shit into my dad's house the last few days, and I'm so sore.
She's decided to finally move out to Oregon from Kentucky, and I'm paying the price now.
I showed up the first day after having promised to help unload the truck over the phone as they were driving back through the Midwest, thinking that it was just going to be maybe a bed, some furniture, a few boxes, etc.
Goddamn was I wrong.My dad was standing on the ramp, moving a box off. The only thing I could do when I pulled up, got out of the car, and walked towards the truck, was grit my teeth as I smiled hello, and maybe make a really strong fist, as I saw the massive truck filled completely up to the roof the entire length of the truck with boxes, chairs, garbage, draped in those ugly off-gray blankets, and all roped up.
I don't mind helping with stuff like this, but, you know, I should have put my fucking foot down. There is nothing wrong with saying, 'I can't do this. I don't agree with it, and I'm not gonna help, period. I'm out of here.'
Although, I would have paid hell at that point... It's like the inverse of helping someone who's a pack-rat out by dumping their garbage for them... I'm putting it INTO the house.
The general philosophy as I was going through with the experience was that i wasn't going to look into any of the boxes... because I knew it wouldn't make the situation any better... And once I committed to not storming off like an asshole (my only option other than toughing it out), I decided just to suffer it. Although, I did see a 20 lb. catalog for lawn Gnomes, for instance...
A cabinet drawer full of different grandma winter gloves, all shades, all textures, all with wool and that tell-tale patent leather tracing the top of the glove. And amongst the metal file cabinet that had to be at least 500 pounds I did see, filed under 'Financial Advice' a newspaper clipping... one of those 'Special Advertisement' sections that are mocked up to make you think they're actually articles... answers from the CEO of an investment bank in Kentucky... advising you to, use his bank!
Anyway, but by the time we were done, the entire living room was filled almost to the ceiling with boxes, the spare room upstairs (my old room) you could hardly walk in, the kitchen you had to bend and flex your body to get around... the dining room, piles of boxes everywhere, no natural light coming in... the basement, garage, driveway... destroyed basically.
Amidst this, as we were hauling the filing cabinet into the garage on a furniture truck, me walking in front to clear the path, there were some of those wooden laundry racks that unfold and you can hang delicates on, strewn in the entrance. As dad was pushing the cabinet, they kept falling in front of him. He brushed them out of the way, only for them to bounce off some other garbage further to the side and fall back into his path... at which point, he flew into a rage, picked one up, and threw it at full force, flippantly, into my right knee. I grimaced, but held my cool. What else, at that point? I shook it off, and he danced around it, pretending like it didn't happen, nervously bitching as he trailed off into how it just wouldn't get out of the way. Not even a fucking hint of apology in any of his actions.
So nice.
In sum, I helped turn a house into a storage unit.
All the years of being mocked, treated like shit, ridiculed for not eating all my food, or asking dad for 50 cents for a pack of baseball cards as a seven-year-old, suddenly makes so much more sense to me now, grandma.
Welcome to Oregon.