120 Boxes, 90 Degrees, and 2 Sore Feet

Not that I really fear being dooced or anything, but I’m going to keep this story vague just in case.

The organization I work for has two primary offices and a third satellite office. Due to certain circumstances that have come up at the office in the south, 120 boxes of books needed to be shipped from that office to the one that I work in, here in Boston.

We certainly had the room to store them here, so that wasn’t an issue. But what did turn out to be an issue was the location of our office. We’re located in a fairly congested area of the city. You cannot park out front because that’s where the MBTA buses park. And you cannot fit your big-ass 18-wheelers down our back alleys without a substantial amount of effort. And, even if you could, we don’t have a loading dock anyway. So, that means that you have to find a parking spot about a block away and then you have to haul the three palettes worth of books down the busy sidewalk in the 90 degree heat.

Does this sound like a recipe for adventure, or what?

Well, the truck driver turned out to be far nicer than the customer service woman led me to believe he would be when we were on the phone last Thursday. He managed to get all three palettes into our building’s lobby with a minimum of fuss. I helped him out, of course, then signed for the delivery, and wished him well as he went on his way. That’s when the real fun started. Because, after that, it was up to me to get all 120 boxes up to the fifth floor by myself. I had a two-wheeler dolly, but it could only take 4 boxes at a time. Do the math. That’s 30 trips up and down the elevator. In bad shoes. In humid weather.

Bitch, moan. Bitch, moan. Yes, I know it sounds like I’m whining. But, really, I’m just trying to report the facts.

It’s all over now, this adventure. All 120 boxes are up here in the office now. I was stressing out about this all weekend long, and it turned out not to be all that bad after all.

Except for the heat. And the feet. And…