THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF CYR

My friend James is moving. Or rather, has been perpetually about to move since January.

"My move is impending," he would say. "They tell me end of the month, at the latest, my condo will be ready."

Pity they didn't seem to mention WHICH month, or for that matter which YEAR this alleged month was in. For more details on this sordid screwing that has gone on and on ad nauseam, read James' blog.

However, after yesterday, it is my considered opinion that my good friend James is cursed.

Error after compounded error has dogged his every step, most of that on the part of the condo builder. Between that and the topsy-turvy world his family life has taken in the last few months, he's been a little distracted.

Enter Agent M, that stalwart trustworthy friend who has some Moving Karma to repay (Moving Karma: If a friend helps you move, you are karmically obligated to help them with their next move. It's just how the world works.) and so last weekend I volunteer my car and services to help James move.

Bruce and I get there at 12:00 on Saturday. But James doesn't have the elevator booked until 1 pm. "That's okay," says James, "That gives us time to go get the truck."

This was the U-Haul truck we were going to move everything into. So, nodding to myself and thinking that James has the whole game plan timed down to the last nano, the three of us drive up to the U-Haul lot.

I say LOT as an apt term because there was ONLY a lot there-- but no store, and certainly no trucks. I looked at James. "You BOOKED this truck, right?" James said "Well, no-- I was just going to come up here and rent one."

Bruce and I looked at each other. Right away, we knew-- the move would not happen today. As anyone who has moved knows, trying to just walk in and get a truck on a Saturday in the summer is an impossible feat.

For James' sake we drove to two other locations and also met defeat. James sighed and asked if we were availble the next day. Sympathetically, I said yes.

The next day he phoned me and told me they had borrowed a van and were just loading it and could I come down? I had just gotten up so I said I'd phone him when I was ready to leave. He phoned me back a few minutes later to tell me the van wouldn't start. He said he was either going to slit his wrists or just hire movers.

Fortunately, he hired movers.

I agreed to provide taxi service for him to lead the movers from his old address to his temporary new one, and his storage space.

So I show up yesterday at 11:30 to pick him up from work.

Problem #1: Upon getting to his apartment to book the elevator for moving, we see that it's booked from ONE to THREE, not twelve to two as previously thought. I began to feel the pricklings of dread.

Problem #2: The movers, allegedly booked for 12:30, call and say it'll be between 12:30 and 1:30 since they're not done the job they were doing at the moment.

Fine. We go for lunch. Although deviated from The Plan, these problems were still within acceptable tolerances. No need to suspect supernatural evil eyes just yet.

Bringing our lunch back to the apartment, I bite into my sandwich and half my crown comes off of my FRONT TOOTH, giving me the semblance of Cletus, the side-show Yokel, despite my not having bitten anything hard, crunchy, cold or any other tooth-damaging substance.

At THIS point I understood with perfect clarity that James' apartment, where he had lived for seven years, did NOT WANT HIM TO LEAVE. And it was sending me a message: Help him and suffer his pain.

We sat in eye-gouging tedium, despite having each other to talk to and chairs to sit on, for three more hours. The movers call at THREE and say they're finally done their job but are now going to take an hour break. So at FOUR O'CLOCK, after beginning this endeavor at eleven-THIRTY, we finally get things underway. Or rather, the movers do while we sit and watch.

Cletus, the sideshow yokel.

After all the driving to his temporary home and then to Airdrie where he's storing his stuff, and driving back-- I got home at nine o'clock in the evening. What should have taken two or three hours had taken NINE.

(Nine hours during which, by the way, my son started having the serious teething pains of a six-month-old and my wife had no other adult to rescue her from baby servitude.)

Let's be clear: I don't blame James. I was glad to help a friend and it's not his fault the day went weird. But he IS cursed. There are forces at work here beyond mortal ken.

I got out a smudge stick, chicken feathers and holy water this morning and I'm busy looking for some fresh entrails even now. Please, Agents, whatever spirituality you endorse, put in a good work with the Cosmic Almighty for James. Guy has had enough, I think.

In the meantime, I too will do that hoodoo that I do so well while waiting for this afternoon's dentist appointment.

Peace, James.

Posted by Agent M at August 29, 2003 12:27 PM