CXXIII. Moving Service. July 25, 2024

>driving Lyft

>get called out to some public housing

>on the way I get a call from a lady who says

>”You’ll be picking up my mother. She’s 86 and disabled”

>this is, of course, useful information

>but when I get there I discover she left a few things out

>the old lady is sitting on her walker in the midst of an empty apartment

>around her, in giant black trash bags, sit all her worldly possessions

>soon it is clear to me

>this lady is moving, and I am the one to be moving her

>clearly all daughterly responsibilities ended with the calling of the Lyft

>I say “Hello, do you have somebody here to help you out?”

>I think this is a valid question

>but my question pisses this lady off to no end

>she takes it as a personal insult to her ability to live alone

>”I don’t need no help!” she shrieks, “I live here BY MYSELF”

>her inflection suggests that the combined achievements of the Egyptians

>the vast empires of Genghis Khan and Alexander

>antibiotics

>nuclear energy

>Voyager whizzing past the Oort Cloud

>are all childish, stupid endeavors compared to the crowning human achievement that is this lady living by herself

>but 

>it seems she does need help 

>because somebody has to move the trash bags

>which are apparently full of clothes

>and pots and pans

>and I guess lead bricks

>and that somebody is me

>soon the old lady is in the front seat

>the walker is folded and basically in her lap

>the rest of the available space in my car is black trash bags

>I am driving an old-timey prospector’s comically overloaded donkey

>and I must unload it at a similar apartment five minutes down the road

>which I do

>and I leave the lady just as I found her

>sitting amongst the trash bags in her new place

>all for the low low price of $4.11

>I am often told that it feels good to do good deeds

>it is good to help poor old ladies move

>I should be pleased with myself

>I should be awash in serotonin or dopamine or whatever

>but I just feel like a sucker