Yesterday evening, The Boss and I loaded up my truck with what hopefully was the second-to-last pile of storage bins and boxes to move into the new apartment. It's about an hour's drive from where we live currently, and on the way over I chatted with The Boss about the post I wrote about my smart-ass remarks to nosy cashiers.
The conversation soon worked its way to the new apartment, and wondering what our neighbors would be like. We've never lived in an apartment complex before, so this will be an entirely new experience for us.
"I hope the people in the building like us," The Boss said.
"Oh, they'll have no reason not to," I assured her. "We're good people."
"You're right, I know. It's just that I hope we make friends with some of the people in the building. I think it would be good for us."
"Yeah," I said, noncommittally. The idea of entertaining new friends in our small apartment didn't exactly thrill me, but I went along with it.
We arrived at our apartment shortly after, and as I backed the truck up to the main entry door, The Boss said, "If we see any of our neighbors tonight when we're moving stuff in, I hope we make a good impression."
"Don't worry," I said, distracted, but still picking up on the hint. "I'll behave."
Famous last words.
We saw a couple of our new neighbors and introduced ourselves as we carried our things up the stairs. I smiled and said the obligatory nice-to-meet-you's, keeping my promise to The Boss of making a good impression. Everything was going well, and before long there were just a couple of boxes left to carry up. I had inadvertently saved the heaviest boxes for last, and having made 17 trips up and down the three flights of stairs already, I decided to save myself an extra trip and take the last two boxes at the same time.
Here's where things started to go wrong.
My legs were exhausted and my arms were sore. I was sweating profusely in some very uncomfortable places. I was tired of forcing a smile to random strangers I passed while wrestling with the box I was carrying. I wanted to be done, and I wanted to be done now. I hoisted the last two boxes and headed for the stairs.
I had just made it past the entry way when I saw a man coming down the stairs towards me. He had a baseball cap on backwards and a clove cigarette sticking out of his mouth. I moved over to the right so we could share the stairway.
"Hey," I grunted. A bead of sweat coursed down my forehead.
"Hi," he replied. "Moving in?"
Could it be any more obvious as to what I was doing? I was standing face to face with a man I had never seen before. I was carrying two boxes up the stairs, both of which were clearly labeled as to what room they belonged in. There is a truck parked by the door with piles of rope and tie-down straps clearly visible from where we stood. I had answered that same stupid question about seven times already that evening, and my patience for politely answering something that was so glaringly obvious had long since run out.
"No," I said. I continued up the stairs.
"No?" the guy said, apparently confused. He turned to watch me clear the landing and head up the next flight of stairs.
"Right. I'm not moving in. I'm moving out in reverse."
Open mouth, insert foot.