Sometime in July, 2019
Now, this is a story all about how
My life got flipped-turned upside down
And I’d like to take a minute
Just sit right there
I’ll tell you how I almost became victim to the lean-with-it-rock-with-it-stairs…
I don’t think I’ve ever been so exhausted in my life. Actually, I’m sure I’ve never been so exhausted in my life. It was 7:00 pm. I had driven twelve straight hours from Middle GA to Chicago, IL. I had already unpacked the top cargo from the top of my car at my storage unit. I was now at my new, temporary residence, on the top third floor of the building, unpacking my overly-packed car. Going up and down the three flights of stairs to my new dwellings just TWICE, I knew I had gotten myself into some mess. How in the hell do stairs safely lean? I brought up my tv and purse for safe keeping. Now, I had to figure out how to get everything up these lean-with-it-rock-with-it stairs and manage to survive.
After two more trips up the stairs to bring up a couple of boxes and bags, I knew I had to change up my game plan. Going all the way to my car, that was parked on the side of the building, to the top floor apartment, every single time wasn’t going to be the move. Screw that. So, instead I got a burst of energy and an idea. I was in the back stairs of the apartment. On every floor, there was a pretty large platform in the back. I figured I would unload everything from my car to the first-floor platform. So, that exactly what I did. I unloaded the car and put everything on the platform.
So, once I got done unloading my car and locking it, I felt accomplished asf. So, what if I didn’t know my neighbors and I put all my stuff in front of their backdoors and was the only black person I seen in the neighborhood. Efficiency was on my mind. Safety and any Backdoor Beckys would have to chill out.
You know that feeling of accomplishment I described? That shit went away quick asf. I was on my SECOND trip back down from carrying my things up and big girl was TIRED. Um, why did I think this was a good idea? Who told me to be Queen Independent?! Let me just say, I had a lot of stuff. I mean at least 15-20 flights of things, stuff. So, I’m not exaggerating. I promise. Anywho, while I was upstairs, my previous roommate’s partner comes out and says hey, I can help you.
BITCH! I almost kissed them! I have never been so grateful in my life. A true blessing! Not only did they help, but they carried MULTIPLE loads at once. They literally cut my load in half. Let’s be completely clear, if they didn’t help, my stuff would’ve still been on the platform. There would’ve been NO way.
My roommate and her partner had to go so I was left alone again. I felt so blessed but sad they had to leave. Like, can I pay you to stay? No, seriously, I’ll pay you to stay. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. I went back down the stairs, happy to report that I had maybe 7 trips left. But at this point, my energized buddy was gone so I wasn’t feeling it. However, I kept on trekking… until the last two trips.
Yes, two. I had two trips left and I had nothing to give but hopes and dreams. And honestly, barely hopes because that took too much breath. I was walking slower than molasses. I couldn’t afford the luxury of breathing through my nose, so my mouth was agape, just trying to find a way to push out as much air as I needed to be okay. I wasn’t okay. On my way back down, I sat on the stairs for at least five minutes.
I prayed. I prayed hard. I needed Jesus to get on the mainline so I could tell Him what I wanted. Heck, I was even okay with Mary answering at this point. Imagine me calling out for help like Fabo in the second half of “Scotty” by D4L.
I only had two trips to go, but the ability to do anything was gone about 3 trips ago. Someway, I believe Jesus heard me and helped me through the second to last trip. I was literally on some Eminem shit by that point. Palms were sweating, knees weak, arms were heavy. I mean GONE. Anyway, I made it and I only had one flight left.
At this point, I’m contemplating if I’m going to pass out on these stairs. Since the time I started moving, NO ONE has come out their back-apartment doors so I doubt if I passed out anyone would discover my body for at least three hours. So, I had no other choice but to survive. I refused to be a headline story, “Girl passes out and dies of exhaustion while unloading car after moving from Georgia to Chicago”. F that. I have places to see and meals to eat!
So, what did I do next? I took one step at a time. Slowly, but surely, I climbed those lean-with-it-rock-with-it stairs, TO FREEEDOM! I took my time and sent up a little prayer on every twist and turn. When I finally reached the motherland, I stretched out on the bed and just breathed. To this day, I don’t know how the hell I made it, but I did and I’ve never in my life been so grateful that I didn’t turn into a crazy headline because that’s not the introduction I wanted Chicago to have of me.
Moral of the story? I made it. Screw a beautiful success story that was done in style and grace. None of my belongings are stuck on the first floor. I don’t care if I didn’t leave the house for two days afterward and ordered groceries to avoid the lean-with-it-rock-with-it stairs. So, yeah, that’s how my first day in Chicago went, and when I move, I will definitely be paying someone to do all the packing and lifting for me.
Update: I definitely hired a mover when I moved into my apartment.