U-BETTERWATCHOUT

My arms are painfully sore and I have a strange chest pain because I moved my friend Kilali from her Brooklyn apartment into my Lower East Side apartment on Saturday. As she is from the UK, she doesn't have a US driver's license. Several weeks ago she asked if I'd drive the U-Haul and without thinking it through, I said sure.

On moving day eve I found myself obsessively studying maps of Manhattan and Brooklyn, compared the differences between Mapquest's and Google Map's suggested directions, printed 4 versions of directions, called U-Haul twice to discuss which streets commercial vehicles can't drive on, and sorted through which of my shoes would be the best driving shoes. I was convinced I'd get honked at 50+ times and be the recipient of several shouted out F-Bombs. But it was comforting to know that the white and orange truck clearly labeled U-HAUL basically meant U-BETTERWATCHOUT.

To ensure our strength, Kilali and I enjoyed a leisurely sit down breakfast then took the subway to U-Haul. We got there around 12:30 and the guy broke the news, "you were supposed to pick up the truck at 11. It is scheduled to go out again at 3:30. You only have 3 hours." shit. Shoulda hurried with that omelette.

We RAN around the parking lot, unlocked the truck, blasted the heat and took off. I owned the road as I drove across 34th Street. This isn't so hard. I turned on 2nd Ave and flew all the way downtown. As we approached Delancey Street I started to get nervous about the parked cars in the right hand lane. They were so close to me.

Kilali: Stay in the furthest right lane, it will be easier for the bridge
Me: Ok. But this doesn't feel like a lane
Kilali: It is, you're fine.

Me: This is not a lane! I am going to hit one of the parked cars!!

Kilali: Calm down you're fine here

Me: No, I am going to hit it!

.......BAAAAAAMMM

Kilali: Ok, so you hit it a little bit

And it just so happened to be a NYPD van! My U-Haul mirror "bumped" the NYPD van's mirror. Freaking out after my hit and run, I kept checking and rechecking my mirrors waiting for the flashing lights and hit and run ticket. I successfully fled the scene and crossed the Williamsburg Bridge into Brooklyn.

I parked and we started running up and down her apartment stairs loading the truck. Time was ticking!!! We efficiently loaded up all her stuff in a little over an hour and headed back to Manhattan with jello-y feeling arms.

We seriously were strapped on time when we parked the U-Haul on my street. It was 2:45 and we were meant to have the U-Haul back uptown in 45 minutes. We came up with the plan that we'd unload the truck and leave everything in the hallway of the building, return the truck and come back to bring it upstairs. Now, this was risky as anyone could steal her stuff when we left it unattended. There's not much a "DO NOT TAKE" sign can do without supervision. Long story short, the guy who manages the apartment building across the street volunteered to move it all upstairs while we returned the truck. Now he seems a little crazy, so I wasn't sure if we could believe or trust him but we didn't have much choice at this point.

Returning the truck was a blur. All I remember is that I almost hit a flying pigeon, I got cocky and honked at someone twice and we refilled the gas tank. I also kept having flashbacks of bumping the NYPD mirror and would burst out in nervous laughter asking Kilali what she would do if I got arrested.

I was relieved and happy to drop off the truck at exactly 3:30 when we pulled into the parking lot. The U-Haul employee said he was surprised we made it in time and even gave us some stupid speech about how women can do anything men can do. He asked "how many mailboxes did you hit?" Kilali said "none" while I mumbled "no mailboxes, just a cop car." He took the keys, we hailed a cab and went back downtown to the apartment.

As we approached the apartment I was so anxious to know if her stuff was all moved upstairs so I yanked open the metal door, the door bounced off my shoe and came back to harshly pound me in the head. Stunned, I looked at Kilali embarrassed and discreetly felt my head for blood or a dent.

Hiking up each of the flights, we looked for traces of her belongings. Floor one? Nothing. Two? Three? Four? nothing. Five? Five and a half.. her mattress. Sixth floor and there was all her stuff neatly stacked up outside of our apartment door. What a miracle!

Kilali unpacked and I remained on cloud nine thinking about the fact that I just DROVE in New York City! How badass and brave am I? I may have sore arms that I can't lift over my head, but I just drove 17 miles in NYC. I am considering taxi driver school.

I made her pose like this. She is in for a real treat to have me as a roommate