The movers arrived at high noon on Tuesday. They packed swiftly and kept asking me how anyone could live in such a hot, sticky place (people after my own heart!). Bill couldn't spell, as he never attended high school (or so he said), and my boxes are marked with "kitchin" and "vidios" and "Emele's stuf."
We had special permission from the property manager to have the semi-truck parked in the complex, which made loading trips very easy. I am in awe of their visual-spacial skills; our boxes were packed like a Rubix cube to the tip top of the trailer.
Aaron and I agreed we would have taken three times as long to box things up, because we would have examined the merits of packing every single thing. Randy and Bill (our movers) had us 75 percent packed by 6 p.m. They asked us to pick them up at 7:45 Wednesday morning, and Randy estimated our apartment would be empty by noon.
We spent the last night in our first home, eating Piggy's BBQ and watching Breaking Bad on the laptop. They left us our bed and built us boxes to use as makeshift night stands.