Movin' on up.

On Tuesday night, I slept in my new apartment for the first time. It was a HUGE accomplishment, given the snafus that we encountered during our move.

I reserved a 10-foot U-Haul truck for Saturday, May 6, from 8:30 AM to 4:30 PM. Even though we have more stuff than would fit in such a vehicle, the rationale was that a) I didn’t want to drive a massive semi through the streets of DC, and 2) with eight hours of moving time, we could make multiple trips if necessary.

On moving day morning, David and I woke up with the sun and headed to the U-Haul store to pick up the truck. Despite the early hour, we were jovial—we noshed on a McDonald’s breakfast, we chatted about the blogger happy hour, and we prepared ourselves for a productive and efficient day of manual labor.

Initially, things appeared to be moving along swimmingly. I signed all of the paperwork, we loaded some furniture pads and a dolly into the truck, and we drove off the lot. As I do not normally drive and am directionally challenged, I was following David’s lead as we came to the intersection of 7th Street and Mt. Vernon (across from the Washington Convention Center). We were in the left turn lane, stopped at a red light, when I felt the engine die.

Shit.

I put the truck in park and tried to rev the engine. It made strange noises, as if it was desperately trying to cooperate, but it simply wouldn’t turn over and start.

Shit.

Since I was in the left turn lane of a pretty busy intersection, I put the hazard lights on and exited the vehicle. I was stranded on the side of the road with umpteen boxes of crap waiting to be picked up in Bethesda and no concept of how to resolve the situation.

Shit.

The resolution of the situation is that three hours later, we were in a new truck heading to Bethesda, having lost a significant amount of moving time (meaning that we couldn’t make multiple trips, meaning that we had to improvise about how to get the rest of our stuff to the new place). Luckily, David and I were in pretty good spirits (he naturally, and me because I passed the bar exam), and we found a great deal of humor in the situation. For example:

* In the three hours that we were stranded, only one person offered to help—a pedestrian who asked if we needed assistance in pushing the truck to the side of the road. Yeah, right. But it was a nice gesture, especially since the oh-so-useful DC police force was nowhere to be found.

* If you saw an unattended U-Haul truck with its hazard lights on in the middle of an intersection, would you assume that it was broken down and drive around it? If so, you are in the VAST minority of Washingtonians. I lost track of how many people started honking and cursing at the empty vehicle, despite the fact that a) there was no one in it, and b) David and I were on the side of the road, loudly proclaiming (with words and gestures) that drivers should reroute their cars. Idiots.

* At one point, there was an older white man (in his even older car) who had pulled so close behind the U-Haul that he couldn’t see the blinking hazard lights. A very nice African-American gentleman in the next lane over rolled down his window and tried to inform grandpa that he was going to have to change lanes. Grandpa, however, made a conscious effort to avoid eye contact/communication with the gentleman. When the gentleman saw David and I standing on the side of the road, he asked us why the old guy wasn’t paying attention to him, to which David responded, “Because you’re black!” While grandpa sat behind the truck, honking in frustration and ignorance, the three of us burst into riotous laughter. It’s funny because it’s true.

* Toward the end of our three-hour stint on the side of the road, a large black SUV (like the ones that transport Vice President Cheney) stopped behind the truck. I informed the driver, a young guy in a suit and dark sunglasses, that he’d have to go around. Without a word, he pulled up beside the U-Haul and his passenger (another young guy in a suit and dark sunglasses) got out and set up some traffic flares. It was all very Men In Black and mysterioso, so David ran after them asking, “Who are you?!” Turns out it was the Capitol Police (though we think it would have been funnier if they had been FBI or CIA or something).

I could probably recount more amusing anecdotes from that morning, but you get the drift. If I hadn’t found out the night before that I passed the bar, I would likely have laid down in the middle of the intersection and prayed for someone to squash me. Instead, nothing was going to ruin my mood, and a nightmarish situation turned into funny blog fodder. I’d say that’s a good deal.

Now that my cat is with me (I didn't want to bring him to the new place until we had at least minimal furniture set up) and I've taken some expensive trips here and here, the apartment is actually starting to feel like home. Now I can start working on the housewarming party (and, of course, more regular blogging)!

David's account of our moving day events, complete with visual aids, is available here.