On Why I’m a Jerk

A little background.

I got a new job (same company, new place). I needed a small apartment for M-F because it’s so far away.

For my move I asked for the service where they pack and unpack your stuff. Mostly it’s just the dishes I didn’t want to wrap, and the books I didn’t want to carry. Books are heavy, man. Really.

I arrive at the new place. The guys unloaded my furniture and boxes, installed light fixtures and AC. After they dropped off the stuff, they left me alone. There are probably 20 boxes of stuff, maybe 30. But it’s mostly packing material, and a couple hours of work for one person. But I paid for them to unpack, so I wait, get a bento from the conbini (convenience store) and relax with an iced oolong tea until after lunch.

When a little old lady shows up. And when I say little, I mean she’s less than five feet. And when I say old, I mean her wrinkles have wrinkles. And I’m feeling like a complete shit that I’m making this old lady do my work. Like, I could easily have done it.

And I start to help out. Until she puts me in my place. She says that this is her job, so let her do it. I’m pretty sure she was a little pissed off. I mean, she wasn’t really hiding it. But still using polite words.

So I wrote this post while she worked.

Until I ran out of story to write, so I read a book to distract myself.

And that’s why I’m a jerk.


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