On Wednesday I saw a facebook post from an acquaintance/new friend asking for someone to help them move stuff on Friday. The replies were generally "can't make it" or "too frail to help" (yup, they did actually say "frail"). Well, I didn't have work on Friday, nor did I have any other conflicting dealy scheduled. Why not help?
So I offered my assistance, an offer which was readily accepted. Preparatory texts were exchanged during the Thursday while I was at work (texts sent during my break of course). A new wrinkle was that it seemed no one else had really answered the call to lend a hand, and I was therefore doubtful about the feasability of just me and this woman moving a queen sized bed down three flights of stairs, despite her assurance that she was really quite strong. I said I'd try to get one of my brothers to help out.
At home that night, I asked Simon if he could help. He hasn't been feeling particularly well (neither have I for that matter, as discussed in my previous post) but he said maybe, depending on whether the start time was late enough that he could get all his gunk out of his system, and if Jordan didn't agree to help.
Jordan clung to the fact that his back has been hurting, and that the doctor said to take it easy. That's fine- I love Jordan, but when it comes to moving things with me, Simon is my go-to, number one choice.
When Simon did agree to help, I said something (I forget what) that Simon misheard as me stating that "I KNEW he'd do it", which almost turned him against the whole outing. I quickly said I didn't mean that at all, and in fact thought it was a minor miracle he agreed to help. He didn't like my saying that either. Ah, what a unique guy!
I was asked by everyone how I knew this person I'd volunteered to help, and I said I didn't really know her all that well, having only met her the two or three times in person before. The resultant shock that registered on my family's face was gratifying, and indicative, I thought, of me actually doing something pretty nice and out of the ordinary.
When Simon and I walked out to her waiting car, a small white number with an embarrassing personalized licence plate, she thanked us repeatedly and explained why her 70+ year old father couldn't help... I guess not realizing that being 70+ is in itself a totally valid reason. I was plenty uncomfortable with the repeated thanks, not wanting either her or myself to get an inflated sense of the value of the service offered. It's no good for her to feel guilty about accepting help, nor in me becoming self righteous in helping. I could help, so I should. At any rate, the world would be a better place if we tried to live like that.
I'll continue this story tomorrow, at the moment I need to sleep.
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