The Move-Out

So last week was the first of July and I had plenty of reasons to celebrate: Canada Day! Stat Holiday! New Roommate Day!

Let me tell you a little bit about my long weekend: The people involved are:
Curtis: The former roommate, tall, grouchy, doesn't like TG's, and hater of bathroom paraphenalia
Mark: The new roommate, short, pleasant, likes LoTR and camembert cheese.
Sarah: The constant in the roommate equation, tall, easy going, shining beacon of hope, can't spell camembert.

You all know how it works when you move right? Ideally you want your stuff out early so you can clean. I say ideally because it is not often that a person has a place available that he can move his stuff to in order to have room to clean up. In this case though both Mark and Curtis were in luck. Both people could move their stuff into a place that wasn't filled with strangers. Mark could move his to my place, and Curtis could move his to his sisters. Both people had the same plan. Move on the second last day, clean on the last. So Mark had movers come on the afternoon of the 29th. I went home a little early to arrange for the move-in.
I took everything from the kitchen and moved it out to the living room or balcony. All of Mark's stuff was put in the kitchen starting from the corner and working outwards. There was a lot of stuff, but it was all completely contained in the kitchen. I am not a stupid woman, I obviously know that having the possessions of three people in an apartment meant for two is going to be crowded. I had this in mind when I had Mark's stuff placed where it was placed, but apparently Curtis had other ideas in mind for his move-out.

Curtis had come home, saw the stuff piled in the corner and for some reason felt that the kitchen was key to his move-out. The kitchen was to his move-out as a keystone is to a Roman aqueduct and without the kitchen his entire move-out strategy fell to pieces. He reacted as if months of careful planning had been brought down in a single, malicious blow. He shook with anger as if I purposefully robbed him access to the prime real estate of the kitchen and I only did so because I wanted to fuck him over. The question then is, when you think you have been fucked over because you didn't bother to think it through yourself what do you do? In Curtis's case the answer is to bang walls and yell "what the fuck is this shit?!?"

I heard a bang and a yell and it woke me up. I figured it was a neighbour or something. I heard another bang and someone yelled "Hello?!? HELLO! What the fuck is this?" I was still half asleep and I thought I must have a crazy neighbour who was trying to get in my apartment. Little did I know the crazy person was already in my apartment! I left my room and Curtis said "What the fuck is that?" and he pointed to the kitchen. I looked but said nothing "How the fuck am I supposed to move my shit out?" I had already planned for this eventuality. I knew Curtis would swear as soon as he saw Mark's stuff, so I knew I needed to make sure his stuff could get out so I said "Don't worry we can fit it." and I went back into my room. As I was closing the door he said "I'm going to be fitting some stuff out the fucking window pretty soon!!" He was of course talking about throwing Mark's stuff off the balcony. I closed my door and went back to bed.

Then I heard the words "fucking FREAK!" and so I assumed this was meant to address me and so I left my room again. "What did you say?" Curtis ignored me, thrust his fists down at his sides in a motion that was only a foot-stamp away from a little-girl-tantrum, and then he walked outside to the balcony. "You call me a fucking freak?" I asked. Curtis shooks his arms around and said "I said *I* am going to fucking freak!!!!" and he started to light a cigarette. His hands were actually shaking. I said "Now now, we won't have to throw your stuff out the window, we can fit it. So you just sit and smoke and calm down." I was about to walk away when I asked "When did you think he'd start moving his stuff?" Curtis replied that he thought he would start moving on the first, "you know, like the LAW SAYS! I have until the first to get out of here!" I said "Nobody is kicking you out early. You have until midnight tomorrow, and Mark isn't moving in until the first, but his stuff is here already so he can clean his other place." We looked at each other for a minute and then he sat to shake and smoke so I left.

I wanted to go back to sleep but instead I decided it was best to supervise. I mean he doesn't have to pay damage now, he could bang the walls up all he wanted and *I* would have to pay when it comes time for me to move out. The move out seemed to go ok. He didn't take what he didn't want though, so I spent a lot of time throwing out garbage. I think it is funny that the next day he spent ten minutes cleaning and I spent three hours. He vacuumed the floor and that was it. He didn't wipe off his window sill or his heat register. As I cleaned of his register though and it was covered in hair! He is going to be BALD soon!

Well that was the move-out. It was stressful but now it is OVER!