Brett was moving into his departed parents' home. His mom had recently died of cancer, five years after his dad had died in his sleep. Brett figured he would also die in that now-empty house.
He had hired two movers at $40 an hour. They worked hard and fast. Brett was also impressed with how they had maneuvered their large truck into a tight loading area. Movers seemed to know lots of tricks—some good, some not so good.
Brett was a bachelor, but in the last 30 years he had accumulated a lot of stuff in the various apartments he had lived in. The movers were there for the big stuff—the bed, chest of drawers with mirror, refrigerator, computer desk, coffee table, dining room table, TVs, stereo, sofa, and, of course, the books. Earlier, Brett had packed more than a thousand books into cardboard boxes and sturdy paper bags. More books than he would ever have time to read, unless scientists discovered a cure for the aging process. What a day that would be!
The movers were finished in only four hours. Brett gave them each a $10 tip. He wondered if that would be an insult or a compliment. They smiled and said thanks. He told them he would meet them at the house in a few hours.
The apartment now looked a lot bigger, but there was still a lot of work to be done. All the big things were gone, but there were lots of smaller things. The kitchen cabinets were still full of dishes, plastic ware, and canned and packaged food. All the towels, bedding, and clothes were still in the bedroom and bathroom. In the living room and hall closet were his golf clubs, fishing rods, and toolboxes.
He was going to have to pack all this by himself and then make many car trips to his parents' house. He had thought about asking his best friend for some help, but then decided against that. Jerome had helped Brett make his last two moves. You can ask your friends to help you move only so often before they start being less friendly. Brett decided, if worse came to worst, he'd just pack all the remaining things and then hire the movers again.
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