Moving day was rough. I’d been packing and organizing for days, getting checks sorted for the prorated rent and the new apartment. Everything seemed lined up — until I checked my email and saw a Security/Fraud Alert from PNC. They had sent it at 4:15 p.m. with a deadline to call back by 8:46 p.m. I didn’t see it until much later. When I looked at my account, I saw they had returned the first rent check for “suspicious signature.” I haven’t written a check in years, so of course it looked unusual to them. That left me stuck: the apartment complex wouldn’t get their money, and I couldn’t reach the fraud branch until morning. Meanwhile, movers were scheduled for 9 a.m., keys weren’t available until 9, and I still had to get Dad up and ready. I authorized the second check just in case they flagged that one too, but I’ll still have to rewrite the first check once the complex gets it back — and probably pay penalties for the delay. Not the kind of problem you want on top of a move.
The good part: the movers showed up — two young guys from Cardinal Moving. They hauled everything into our new “mirror image” apartment. Same layout, reversed, with odd differences in shapes and sizes. The complex covered the move since they forced us out, and I tipped the movers $50 each. Worth it. They laughed at my jokes too, which made the day lighter.
Mary Ann, our aide, arrived just as they finished. She organized Dad’s bathroom and stayed after her shift to help me tackle the mountain of leftover stuff. We worked for hours. She’s back tomorrow, which is a relief.
By midnight, I was still shuttling kitchen and bedroom items. I had set up the cable box for Dad, but the Wi‑Fi and internet wouldn’t activate. Only the living room outlet was wired to work; the bedroom outlet was dead. Spectrum is scheduled to come tomorrow between 2–3 p.m. to fix it. For now, I dragged the modem and router into the living room, and thankfully my PC runs on Wi‑Fi. Proof: you’re reading this.
I was sore and exhausted, and that’s when I remembered the golden rule of moving: make the bed first. I had forgotten it earlier in the day, but finally stopped, set up the bed, and made it. Hours later, when I couldn’t stand anymore, it was there waiting — the one piece of comfort in the middle of chaos. I collapsed into it and slept five hours straight. When I woke, I crept out, finished the last tasks, vacuumed, emptied trash, filmed a walk‑through, and turned in the keys. Done.
Now comes the fallout: the returned check, possible charges for “stained walls” (a decade‑long saga), and the reality of unpacking. Mary Ann texted she’s fine except for a backache. I, meanwhile, hurt everywhere. And I’m already spotting complications: suction grab bars don’t stick to these shower stalls, no medicine cabinets, and no towel racks inside the shower/tub. There’s one outside in the bathroom, but that doesn’t help with drying mats or keeping towels within reach while bathing. Instead, they added a little decorative shelf that’s useless for us. Designer nonsense.
But we did it. We moved. We survived. Now we keep surviving. And I finally see what “structural changes” they wanted: open‑concept fads, fewer carpets, trendy showers. Someone at corporate decided uniform style mattered more than stability. So people get uprooted for fashion. Welcome to the modern world.