Packing is one of those tasks that I forget how much I hate until I find myself doing it again. The one exception to this is the kitchen, since, from move to move, I remember quite vividly how much I despise packing box after box of breakable shit. You don’t realize what a genuinely retarded number of beer glasses you have until you have to wrap each one in newspaper before nestling it in a bed of styrofoam peanuts that you can only hope will keep it in one piece as it travels 400 miles in the back of a 30 foot monster U-Haul truck.
Despite my hatred, I volunteered to do the kitchen this time around in an inadequate attempt to balance out the fact that Ty had about ten times more belongings to pack than I did. And, while it did suck, there were a few saving graces:
- I packed everything with old issues of The Onion. Random howls were unleashed at irregular, often frequent intervals.
- The kitchen was air-conditioned.
- Just kidding!
- It allowed me to avoid packing little painted miniatures.
- I unearthed some fun shit in there. Such as:
What controversy you say?
Next up… Part II: Getting Here, or, Breaking and Entering