The one that made me think about Chandler Bing
The unwritten rules of helping FRIENDS move. Now written.
I helped my friend Dylan move yesterday and it made me think about Chandler Bing.
It’s been a week since actor Matthew Perry died and I’ve devoured numerous heartfelt tributes about his tortured life and his beloved character on FRIENDS. The show, and especially Chandler’s character, has been top of mind lately. Like most dudes, it was easiest for me to relate to Chandler, and repeat his most memorable lines in his cadence.
My friend Dylan shares a few similarities with Chandler. Albuquerque isn’t exactly New York City, I know, but Dylan was living in a small apartment downtown and now he’s moved into a nice big duplex in the suburbs. Chandler moved into a house with his best friend’s sister. Dylan moved into a place with his sister’s best friend.
Yes, it’s every bit as adorable as it sounds.
Moving furniture and boxes, I didn’t feel like Joey, and I didn’t run into a young Dakota Fanning to give me life advice. (I did think about what career advice her character would give me.)
But it was evident to me, fellow helper Fred, and Dylan, that this was not just another move.
It wasn’t even whispered. My favorite part of the move was me, or Fred, picking up an object and saying, “this will look really good in your garage because there is no way your girlfriend will allow this inside your new house.”
Which reminds me. Dylan told me his theory about the “man cave” that I had never previously realized. Now my entire world outlook has changed.
The “man cave” is not really the woman being nice and allowing the dude to have a room with his stuff. It’s actually the woman’s way of putting all the stuff she hates in one room so it doesn’t ruin the rest of the house. [There’s a reason why it’s usually in the basement.]
Anyway, the act of asking your friends to help you move is tricky. When you reach a certain age, it’s harder to find volunteers. Life gets busy. Backs get creaky. Excuses get real.
When I moved from Los Angeles to Albuquerque, I hired a moving company for the first time in my life. It was worth every penny. I vowed to hire movers every time the rest of my life.
In the 10 years since, I’ve moved six times and never hired movers once. Turns out, the amount of disposable income you have when working on the Dodgers pre/postgame show is drastically different than when working for a minor league baseball team.
We all hate moving. It sucks. But people bond over things that suck and moving does bond people. Moving helps you realize who is truly a good friend.
On the drives back and forth yesterday, the most random moving stories came to my mind.
The first: it’s my second year in college, the night before I’m moving, I’m drinking at a party, I don’t have a truck, and I have no plan for how I’m moving all my stuff the next morning. This guy I kinda remembered from the dorms the year before volunteered to help – and he had a truck. We weren’t even all that close friends. [I wish I could remember his name right now.]
The next morning, I’m hungover, it starts to rain — yes, of all the days for rain in SAN DIEGO is the day I’m moving — and this dude calls me to find out if I still needed help moving. The dude comes over and saves me. Just the two of us in the stupid rain. [I need to get his name. I just texted another friend from the dorms, Tom, to see if he can remember his name. I’ll let you know if Tom texts me back.]
Another memory, it’s post college, the year is 2003, it’s a few months before the FRIENDS finale: I’m moving from the suburbs of San Ramon to the big city of San Francisco. My friend Ferris, my old roommate in San Ramon, is helping. Jon is my new friend who recruited me to join a group of people who all met on Craigslist to pool resources to live in this five-bedroom house in the Sunset district.
There was five of us, two girls and three guys, basically strangers, who moved in together and became – you know I’m going there – FRIENDS.
[My friend Tom just texted back to say my savior was Ken. Thank you for saving my ass, Ken!]
Anyway, during this move to San Francisco, I remember that Jon paused to take a phone call. Ferris and I kept moving things. At this point, my stuff was inside the house. I’m good. We were moving Jon’s stuff. Jon kept talking on the phone. We kept moving boxes. Jon kept talking and talking and talking.
I remember Ferris said something like, “he’s breaking the unwritten rules of moving.”
Ferris was right. We stopped, in protest, until the phone call ended. The rule: you can’t take a long phone break while others are doing the work, especially when it’s your stuff. If you pickup the phone, you better make it quick, or tell everyone else to take a break too.
That memory got me thinking about the other unwritten rules for moving.
That got me thinking about how my friend Jason Turbow wrote a fabulous book about all the unwritten rules of baseball. All these unwritten rules were finally written! All in one place!
That got me into a deep state of Unagi, thinking that I need to write the unwritten rules for helping a friend move.
Trust me, these rules will be way more funny if you read them in Chandler Bing’s voice, because I make jokes when I’m uncomfortable too.
When your friends arrive, you must have food for them. A breakfast burrito is perfect.
Someone must have a dolly. You don’t have to use the dolly. But you must have at least one, if not two, and you must constantly debate if this is easier or harder using a dolly.
As the friend helping, it is perfectly acceptable to made constant judgement about the objects your friend has accumulated in his life. You can, and should, think internally about whether your life would be better if you had this object, and be grateful you have not spent money on that object.
As the friend who is moving, it is perfectly acceptable for your friends to constantly ask you, “what the heck is this?”
If the answer has the slightest hint of “family heirloom” to it, you can absolutely not make fun of the object or your friend. However, if the answer is anything else, you can make fun of your friend. In fact, part of the rules you assume as the friend moving is that you are the designated punch line for the day.
If a friend drops, dents, chips, bends – or heaven forbid – breaks anything, you can’t get mad at your friend. Acceptable answers are: “that’s alright” or “it was already kinda like that” or even “I was going to get rid of that anyway.” Repeat. You can NOT get mad. Your friend is not a professional mover. You paid him with a breakfast burrito for crying out loud.
As previously mentioned, phone calls should be brief. Could we BEE any more clear about this?
If multiple cars are involved and it’s a Caravan, whoever is the front should NOT run a yellow light, or make a tough left turn until the coast is clear for everyone. Go slow. We’re all following you. There might be a gate and we don’t have the remote access. Let’s all stay together, bro.
Whenever someone asks, “will it fit?” we must all express complete and total confidence that it will fit. Don’t pause. Don’t hesitate. Don’t eyeball it. Don’t measure. Just believe that it will fit. Later, you can start to eyeball the measurements. Once you start the process of trying it make it fit, then you’re allowed to mentally doubt if it will fit. If it becomes apparent that, actually, it’s not going to fit, nobody wants to be the first person to vocalize it. We all just kinda look at the space and try to do advanced geometry in our minds. This is normal. Eventually, somebody needs to say it’s not going to fit. At this point, we all agree it’s not going to fit.
However, if it does fit, then everyone shall say “see, told you it would fit” and we all must decide who was secretly most in doubt if it would fit and chastise that person’s lack of faith that it would fit.
Once you’ve loaded up the U-Haul, somebody needs to say, “see, all that time playing Tetris was NOT a waste of time.”
Once you’ve tied something down with a rope, whoever did the tying must say, “that’s not going anywhere” in the most stereotypical 1980s Dad voice.
When you’re moving a couch up crooked stairs, yes, everyone must say, “PIVOT.”
Once the move is done, you must supply alcohol. A beer is best.
Now you know the rules. Actually, you already knew the rules. But the unwritten rules are now written.
To all the FRIENDS who have helped me move over the years, an incomplete list that starts with Ryan and Rich driving me seven hours to San Diego State’s dorms, and then Jim, Tom, my savior Ken!, Damon, Roland, Eric, Lamarr, my mom, my dad, Jamie, Ferris, Ferris again, Ferris at least three times, my sister Lisa, my nephew Kasey, JD, my cousin Geoff, Dylan, Michael, Andrew, Brandon, Dylan again, my cousin Geoff again, Brandon again, my cousin Geoff again, the heartiest of thanks for your help, your trucks, and your Tetris skills.
To Dylan and Lara, all the best in your new home, you lobsters. Always be willing to drink the fat for each other.
Also: you’re throwing a Christmas party. Dibs on the spare room if I get too drunk.