I remember when 'moving an armoire" was a euphemism for having sex

There is nothing that I dread more than being asked for a favor. It’s not that I don’t want to help or don’t have the ability to, it’s that I don’t want to help. I don’t want to spend my Saturday morning setting up a satellite dish on your roof, I don’t want to help you try to pick out a couch and I sure as shit don’t want to help you move.


Seinfeld covered this topic well, so there is really no need to explain the nuisance which accompanies the request to help somebody move. I’ve helped many people move in my life and I’ve had friends help me move each time I’ve changed apartments, so it is not specifically the physical act of moving boxes which annoys me. What annoys me is that in my mid-thirties with a four month old daughter, a mortgage, a job for which I travel often and even when I’m not on the road one which basically requires that I’m reachable 24 hours per day, a (dying) social-life not to mention the normal responsibilities and errands that people still have the gall to ask you for help to move especially those who can easily afford the services of a moving company.

Just this week I was asked- by somebody who will remain nameless- to help him move a bunch of stuff from his house in some stuffy CT town to his new home in the same stuff CT town. The email wasn’t even sent to me but my help was requested/demanded through an intermediary.

 It may have started innocent enough about having a lot to do and being so excited about moving into their new place but then came the kicker I knew I should have expected:

We will have most if not all of the small things moved this weekend and we will just need help for a few items. That armoire, the dining room table, refrigerator

Fuck me.. what the hell did I do to deserve this, I’ve been on the road for three weeks in a row, I taxi back and forth to drop my baby-girl off to my mom’s house, I serve on my Co-Op board and the Board of my work's Industry Association, I give to the homeless, I recycle, I don’t take up two seats on the subway but still I get this kind of nut-kick

“That armoire” is easily 1000 pounds; it is 10 feet high and 6 feet deep made from Oak and is the kind of thing that if it toppled over would instantly kill you. On top of that it is absolutely hideous looking and looks like the kind of thing they probably found on the side of the road covered in dog-pee and homeless stench. For some reason they brought it home with them but now they have to realize it doesn’t HAVE to move with them, this thing is a relic and not a good one.

It’s the kind of piece you throw in when you sell the house because it has permanently dented the flooring. It’s the opposite of a nice rug which has the ability to tie a room together in that it is big enough to warrant its own room but you move out of the house and you leave it for the next schmucks to move. 1000 pounds of awfulness and the worst part is that it’s gonna have to be moved on my back

You own two houses worth 2.5 million dollars, it wouldn’t kill you to hire a couple of movers for $300 and not put your family through this.

and if you are going to break my back, at least have the guts to ask me myself