Moving Day (In Which Mary is the Patron Saint of Foreign Students)

Fun fact about moving: it only rains when you absolutely must be outside.

I had packed most of my stuff up before we left for Dublin, which was a surprising departure from my tendency to procrastinate until the very last minute. It wasn’t like I had a lot of stuff to pack, it’s just that I tend to think things take a whole lot less time than they actually do, and the end result tends to either be no sleep or that I’m late. In this case, it was almost neither. Still, I did not get home until nearly midnight (that trip was the first and the last time I took the bus to Dublin–from then on, it was all trains for me), so I basically tumbled into bed in my travel clothes, resolved to pack my last few items once I got up in the morning.


I had neglected to provide myself with something to pack them in. Smart, no? My suitcase was full, my backpack was full (because, well, Dublin), and my only remaining solution was to throw everything into a big plastic bag. Bag, suitcase, and backpack in hand, I headed out of my apartment, acutely aware that my Italian flatmate was still sleeping (we were both supposed to move out by 10, and it was 9:55). I wondered briefly if I should wake him, then realized it was raining. Of course. I went up to drop my keys off at the office, which was locked (as it was a Sunday), so I stuck them under the door and thanked God that Mary had insisted on giving me a ride to my new apartment, even though it was only about an eight minute walk away.

I was even more glad (gladder?) a few seconds later, when the big plastic bag disintegrated and sent everything I had stuffed into it sprawling. Between the rain, the fact that my new apartment was entirely uphill, the broken bag, and that I didn’t actually know where this apartment was (remember, this was arranged entirely over text messages while we were driving to Dublin), I needed a mommy. For about ten minutes, I was scared Mary had forgotten me (and then where would I be?), but she called and let me know she was running late, and she would be there soon. And she was.

It was a short ride to the Spires, and I was greatly relieved to get my keys and into my room. It was easy to move my suitcase and my backpack, and a few armfuls got the extras from the bag inside, too. I hugged Mary goodbye after thanking her profusely, not only for helping me move, but for finding the apartment for me, and she drove off.

As if on cue, the rain stopped.

Really? I mean, after raining on my suitcase all morning. And disintegrating my bag. And then it stopped raining as she drove away.



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0 Responses to Moving Day (In Which Mary is the Patron Saint of Foreign Students)

  1. IntenseGuy says:

    Good ol’ Murphy’s Law in action.

    Edward Aloysius Murphy, Jr. (January 11, 1918 – July 17, 1990).

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