A Copywriter’s Blog

As I’ve mentioned before, The Wife and I have been known to approach situations differently.

For example, when I moved into a room in college, I set up the bed and the internet. Everything else was optional, and was unpacked as it was needed. This meant that when the time came to move back home for the summer, there was usually a box or two loaded into the car that had never been unpacked.

The first time The Wife and I moved into a place together, I followed standard procedure. Assembled the bedframe, set up my computer in a tangle of cords and egg-crates, and proceeded to surf the web.

At this point, the reader is free to imagine The Wife standing there, clearing her throat meaningfully and tapping one foot, arms folded.

Three days later the entire place was unpacked, organized, and decorated. A mere 72 hours after getting the keys the only thing left to do was find complementary dishtowels.

I tell you all this to explain what happened our second day in the new apartment. We moved before our furniture did, so we’re currently sleeping on an air mattress, and I got the cable hooked up so that I can post this while sitting on the floor.

The Wife is working nights these days. This means she works a 12-14 hour shift, followed by an hour or more commute home, where she attempts to sleep for 8 hours before getting up, eating something, and driving another hour or more to start the next 12-14 hour shift.

You’ll not nowhere in there is there time for, well, anything. Work, drive, sleep, drive work. Repeat.

Which means there’s only one possible explanation for how, when I came home Monday night, twelve hours after we’d moved into the new apartment, the entire bathroom, fridge, and pantry were organized.

The Wife can bend space-time.

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A Universal Truth Ben Levy 11, April

I’ve had a ton of stuff to bitch about recently, and I’d like to think that I have bitched about them in artful and varied ways. In comparison, moving to a new apartment just didn’t seem like that big a deal to me. After all, it’s not everyday that someone gets laid off. But moving? Everyone’s gone through a move before. Whatever.

But no matter who I spoke to, or how casually I said it, everyone who learned I was moving immediately offered their most effusive, heartfelt sympathies:

“Ohmigod I’m sorry. Moving is the worst.”

“Dude, that sucks.”

“Someone once told me I wouldn’t have to move if I stabbed my own Mother, and I actually had to sleep on it for a night before declining their offer.”

Which was when I realized that moving really does suck. For everyone.

And then I realized- this is it. This is the single piece of common ground we’ve all been looking for. This is the shared experience that will bring about world peace. In every culture, on every continent, people from every walk of life can agree on this one thing- moving blows.

Every international arms treaty should open with a conversation about the last time both parties had to move a couch. Could you imagine? The Cold War would have lastest a week:

MODERATOR: Would the speaker for the USSR like to begin?

USSR: Nyet. American dogs do not respect us. Is nothing to say.

US: Like I’d listen to anything you commie bastards said anyway.

USSR: You are not coming over here to say that!

US: Don’t try me, Ivan!

MODERATOR: Gentlemen, please! Now, I understand the representative for the United States just moved into a third floor apartment last weekend. Is that correct?

US: Yeah. Third floor walk-up.

USSR: You did this thing yourself?

US: Damn straight. Three flights with that stupid bedframe. At least the couch was a sectional.

USSR: This is, how you say, small miracle? Mine was not. Carried up stairs, only to learn does not fit in door.

US: You’re kidding!

USSR: I never kid. Had to take back down stairs, then carry up to outside patio, push in through window. Was -30 degrees.

US: Stuff like that is why I’m using a moving company next time.

USSR: In Soviet Russia, company moves you.

US: Yeeeees… isn’t that the point?

Obviously, there would still be some bitter debates. Who carried the heaviest thing the furthest? Whose friends were the least helpful? Is it worse to move in the dead of winter or the height of summer? But I think just acknowledging that we all share this one thing in common will usher in a new era of discussion and understanding for the world.

We may not see eye to eye on everything, but on this point we can all agree: Moving fucking sucks.

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