(this post is part of an aborted 1 year experiment in material abstinence I called The Necessary Year)
I up and went and done it. Yessir. I purchased myself a dolly (or hand truck -or even hand cart, if you wont have any truck with the former) for my impending move.
Said truck has an adjustable handle, pneumatic tires (which is good ’cause the oldmatic ones tend to blow out at high speeds in the curves), an 850 lb capacity, and it can be converted into a flat cart.
First I will tell you how long I have wanted one of these things, then I will attempt to justify buying one, now.
I dunno about you but I’ve moved a few times in my life and each move has been worse than the last – mainly because, as has already been established, I have a tendency to collect (yet rarely divest myself of) all sorts of crap. Silly crap. Heavy crap.
After I got married, (actually, we shacked up like a couple of filthy heathens, first) the whole thing became really ridiculous. Now I had to move someone else’s crap, too (and she has some heavy crap, let me tell you).
Then we had a kid. More crap.
Finally, the bulk of my wife’s family died and we inherited the equivalent of two other households of crap. Really heavy crap like freezers, antique bureaus, and washing machines.
It seemed like the only time we took a break from collecting crap was to move the crap we’d collected. One time we moved our crap across country from Colorado to Washington state.
Crap!
Anyway, each time we moved, I dreamed of having a dolly. Occasionally we would actually end up with one of some sort, but we always had to rent it, and it was always caked with the sweat and frustration of a thousand previous moves, which would then proceed to get all over your hands. Icky stuff, my friends. Icky stuff.
Then there was our last move, which entailed over a week of back-breaking insanity even with the help of an army of hapless and foolish friends, whom we somehow tricked into helping us.
Luckily, one of them had … wait for it … a nice, clean little hand truck with pneumatic tires. It was a life saver. Even after its owner had given up and headed home in exhausted disgust at the sheer, endless magnitude of all our crap, I was allowed to continue using his dolly (it’s amazing how effective clinging to an item and shrieking like an imperiled damsel can be).
By the time I (grudgingly) returned the dolly to its rightful owner, I knew I had to have one of my own. Better, I wanted one that could be converted to a cart so that I could haul some truly monstrous crap on my own (or ride it down the driveway in my spaceman-getup). Finally, I knew I wanted to get a hand cart before next I moved – that or fling myself from an overpass during rush hour.
Fast forward to this goddrotting Necessary Year and I find myself in a position of having to move. Granted, I am not having to move one quarter of the mountain of crap I had to move last time but I still have a lot to move and, as noted prior, some of it is damned heavy. My ego, for example.
As I boxed up my belongings in that dingy, little basement room, I remembered my hand truck vow. Could I justify it, in the face of TNY?
Well, let’s see. How often will I use said tool?
Likely every time I move and, otherwise … erm … never.
Okay, then: how often do I move?
Well, given the chance, I move less than your average hard-shelled bivalve, so that’s not a factor either.
Hmmmmm. So how do I justify buying a hand truck in TNY again?
Well, I don’t know that I really can, to be honest, yet I remain extremely resistant to dinging myself for doing so. I own a shovel I almost never use either, yet I count it as one of my most valuable possessions – I really dig it (cough). I buy so few tools, yet I really, really appreciate the ones I do have.
Let’s face it, there’s nothing quite like being prepared. Why, with my trusty shovel, pinking shears, and now a hand truck, there’s no peril I feel unprepared to face. Isn’t a sense of security necessary?
Then there’s the friend and acquaintance angle: the moment anyone finds out I have a hand truck, they’ll be begging to borrow it. Begging me. Oh, the power!
My fame as dolly’s agent will grow. People will be grateful. They’ll owe me. Eventually, there will be a late-night scene involving me pounding on a window, demanding my dolly back, as my erstwhile friends hunker down just below the sill, sniggering softly into cupped hands.
Who wants to miss out on that kind of excitement?
Let us not forget the value to cost aspect.
My dad picked it up for me at one of those big-box, bulk buying bonanza places for $50. I suspect it actually cost more because who ever heard of paying a round amount like $50 for something like this but, hey, I’m not gonna argue with the guy if he wants to do me yet another favor.
Two moves should see the dolly paying for itself (preferably in large, unmarked bills). Of course, I might not make that second move for another ten years … or it might happen in a couple of months – who knows? The point is that the cart’ll pay for itself after relatively few uses.
As for utility, the ease and speed that a dolly adds to a move cannot be overstated (but I’ll do my best).
Instead of one box per trip, as I’d be forced to do it with these twiggy, useless arms I had foisted off on me by mister gawd-pants, I’ll be able to haul up to six at a time with my handy-dandy dolly.
With few exceptions, I’ll be able to wrangle things like a freezer or clothes dryer by myself, as well. All I need is a strap and enough gumption to get said item’s weight transferred from the ground to those tires and off I’ll go – out the back door and straight down the hill away from the house and moving truck, down into the gully. It’ll be some fun – and damned cheaper than hiring help or – worse – feeding one of my goddamn friends two meals a day plus beer, not to mention having to put up with the obligatory inane chatter.
As a final note in the tool’s favor, please envision the following: The Valley of the Kings. Stonehenge. The Great Wall of China.
You know damn good and well that, without hand trucks, none of these ancient monuments would exist. Any tool capable of helping to turn the old world from one, big, ugly field into the equivalent of an ancient Disneyland isn’t a luxury in my book, it’s a necessity – or damn sure oughta be.
So, while not strictly necessary, I don’t see this purchase as a horrible transgression against TNY. I really cannot wait to put it to use, either. The only thing it’s lacking is a spring-loaded missile or two.
Poink!
—————
A good friend of mine removed an item from my frivolities list last night by gifting me with the latest David Sedaris book – yay!
He was really hoping I’d say something along the lines of “Oh, that’s not necessary,” so he could reply, “That’s exactly why I did it.” But I was too much of an ingrate to do much more than blather a quick thanks and drool over my gift.
The rotten son of a bitch (and his gracious wife) also played and informed me of a buncha music I felt compelled to add to the frivolities list and now have to wait a full year to buy. Razza frazza …
(Thanks for real, guys – your hospitality and kindness is truly appreciated)
Hand trucks? Absolutely NECESSARY. In fact, if I could I would buy the person who invented this marvelous contraption a beer. I have a pretty red one.
Sedaris rules, those are good friends.