On Saturday, after Bill Fontaine (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) ran 11 miles and I biked 25 miles we were lounging on the couch when we received a call from a nice man at our church who said we were needed for an "Emergency Move." After a few minutes of cursing ourselves for answering the phone, we dragged our tired bodies off the couch and down the road to help.
Now, if you'll indulge me, there are a few things I would like to discuss in regards to this event. First, I would like to ask the question: When you hear "emergency" what do you first think of? Do you think flashing lights and someone on the brink of death? Do you think of someone entering a home with, let's say a gun, and you calling 911 to protect against being shot? Do you think of a pregnant woman on a highway about to give birth? OR Do you think about moving apartments on Saturday afternoon so you can see the ocean better and have more sunlight? Apparently, to our new good friend Candence the last option is what she deems as an "emergency." I wonder how she would classify a major chemical attack of hydrogen cyanide on the city of Los Angeles? Probably "something to look into."
Second of all, if you are going to alert everyone to an emergency move, or ask anyone to participate in a move for that matter, shouldn't you at least have a few things boxed up, organized, participate in the move yourself, have food available, brush off the excessive cat hair all over your stuff and maybe minimize a little of your crap ahead of time? Just a couple of thoughts.
And lastly, if you call for an emergency move, and someone, say myself, asks you, "So, has the landlord told you you only have 24 hours to move apartments or you can't move at all?" Please lie and say, "Yes, the landlord also threatened to kill one of my cats if I didn't get everything out in the next two hours." Then I would have felt better about participating in one of the lamest moves of all time.