Posted on December 19, 2018
by Steve Janowick
I knew the day was fast approaching-and I was dreading it.
Finally, it was here.
From the second I walked into the building I knew this would be one for the ages. From the eyeball test alone, I knew the elevator wasn’t going to be big enough. Hell, just one of his file cabinets would never make it in there-and he had about 10 of those that needed to be moved-along with office furniture, exam tables and countless other (very heavy) odds and ends. My doctor buddy was moving his entire office from an outdated second floor space to a much more suitable first floor suite-and it was just him, my brother, my son and me. Four strong backs, a bunch of dollies and rope and a few tons of mass to be moved.
Fun times a comin’.
I took in and let out one of those deep breaths. You know the ones. The breath you take as you stare at and contemplate the seemingly impossible physical task ahead that you know is going to kick your ass and turn you black and blue.
But we could stall no more.
We started with the lighter furniture and, after about 3 or 4 trips, honed our system. This was probably the 10th time the four of us were involved in some nut-crunching move together. Someone in our circle was always upsizing, relocating or getting divorced and, instead of dropping big bucks on overpriced professionals, we’d see it as an opportunity to hang out, down a few cold ones and share a few laughs.
Be damned future chiropractic bills!
Funny how groups of male friends communicate sometimes. My doctor buddy could easily afford the best movers in the business. He could save his back and assure his stuff would be moved void of damage. But getting us together for a hard day’s work was his way of telling us how he feels. The bonds of friendship and camaraderie meant something to him. Being together and making memories meant something to him. He’d never say that to our faces; like many men-he doesn’t have it in him, but by shedding sweat and blood together and commiserating in this dreadful endeavor, he said it all. And we knew it.
So, after an entire day of manipulating very big and very heavy things down narrow, awkward stairs, we called it a day. We were spent! He treated us to a nice, post-move dinner where we laughed some more and reveled in our victory against the physical and mental beatdown we had just endured. Six months or so later someone else would be moving and we’d do it all over again. We’d bitch and moan at the prospect of it. Dread the thought of it. But in the end, we’d all show up and knock it out.
Because that’s what brothers do.
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