By Lorry Myers
For many years in a row, we moved mattresses. After dorm rooms, there were fraternity houses and crowded student suites and apartment buildings with inconvenient parking. My husband had the uncanny ability to predict which of our three children would call.
“Dad, I’m ready to move.”
For some reason, my children would choose third floor apartments in a complex without elevators. Consistently the buildings had winding stairs, narrow balconies and smaller door frames which made moving with their father a memorable experience.
Believe me, I know.
Randy is a fussy mover who has strong opinions about the handles on a mattress, the design of a utility dolly and the convenience of stackable tubs. On moving day, Mr. Moving Man wants everything labeled, box tops taped and all of it waiting by the door. Randy will tell you that he doesn’t want to stop for lunch or take a break or consider finishing tomorrow.
Which is what he told his oldest daughter when she predictably called her father to say that she had a job offer in Kansas City and would be moving out of her third story apartment in St. Louis. Hilary gave her Dad a moving date and made a moving plan and when they hung up, I had to hear Randy recite all the things that would go wrong with this move. He hates the tiring trips on winding stairs and he especially hates the handles on a mattress.
I have heard all this before.
We drove to St. Louis early on a Saturday morning to help with the move; Randy braced for his daughter’s apartment to be in chaos. Instead, boxes were packed and labeled and a number of storage containers with easy grip handles were neatly stacked by the door, ready to be moved.
Just the way her father liked it.
Hilary had stripped her bed but needed help tearing it down, so we decided to load all the boxes and the remainder of the furniture, leaving room to slide in the bed, mattress and box springs.
In other words, Randy was saving the worst for last.
Hilary’s bedroom set was second hand and she still had the same mattress that she had when she lived at home. We had moved this box springs and mattress at least four times so Randy knew exactly what we were in for. The handles on the mattress were on the long side, making it awkward and difficult to lift and carry.
Especially going down the stairs.
It was past noon; the U-Haul was almost full, the bed was down and the frame loaded, and all we had left was the box springs and mattress. My daughter and I looked at each other because we knew that Mr. Moving Man was going to have a few choice words about the handles on a mattress.
It happens every time.
For the complete article, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard.