I’d rather give you $200 to hire a guy.
Don’t even think about it. If you’re moving, don’t ask me for help. Don’t even think about it. The Seinfeld episode with Keith Hernandez comes to mind. Keith wanted Jerry to help him move, and Jerry thought it was too early in their relationship – to ask him to help. He’s right about that. Helping someone move, is the biggest favor a man can ask another man. Jerry might argue it’s dropping someone off at the airport – but I believe moving beds & couches up & down stairs trumps everything. Now, you ask WHY Brian may I not ask you to help? Why, if we’re good friends, can I not depend on you? Maybe you believe our relationship has elevated itself to moving status. No. No it hasn’t. Don’t ask me, because I will never, never, ever ever – ask you to help me. That’s it in a nutshell. I developed this strict no moving assistance policy over many years. I used to help friends all the time. To some good friends, I was always a go-to guy. Back in the 80’s – I said, that’s enough. No person you know has moved as many times as me. I moved out of the house into an apartment. I moved to another apartment, to another apartment, then another. Then I moved to Champaign. Then I moved back to Springfield. I moved into a house, into an apartment, then back home. I moved into another apartment – then moved to San Antonio. I moved into an apartment. Then another apartment – then a house. I moved to New Orleans. There, I moved into a condo, then a house, then moved to Boston. I moved back to an apartment, then moved back to San Antonio again into a house. Then I moved to Dallas into a house, then another house, then to Springfield into an apartment, into a condo, into a house. I’m not gonna count up all those moves, I get dizzy just thinking about it. Everytime I moved, I paid or my company paid, to professionally move me. The only people that helped over the years not on a payroll – were my kids. Once they got old enough – they chipped in. That is why the only people I will ever ever help move are my kids, and you’re not one of my kids are you? So, don’t ask. You know the answer.