So, there was this one time that I lived in New York City for seven months…
Over those aforementioned seven months, during which I spent living and working in Manhattan, I experienced many of the things that your standard New York City dweller boasts to their high school friends about, but quietly abhors on a daily basis. I rode the subway, I got boozy at Sunday brunch, I even pretended to care about the museums once or twice. But this isn’t about those things. This isn’t about living in New York City at all. It’s about leaving New York City.
I will begin by saying this: my exodus from New York was the start of what can only be described as a launch towards personal happiness while riding a T-Rex wearing a jetpack and a cowboy hat. Yeehaw, motherf@#$%&s, I’m blowing this rat trap Popsicle stand.
Before I was able to enjoy the benefits of my move, however, there were several tasks that needed to be accomplished, all of which were particularly taxing in ways that can only be blamed on what I understand as New York City’s perpetual quest to screw each and every one of its residents with a splintery 4×4.
Of course, there are action items that everyone knows they’ll have to complete when moving from anywhere. You’ll need to find someone to take over your apartment lease. You’ll need to quit your job. You’ll need to cancel your utilities. You should probably tell the guy from the bar last weekend that you’re not going to make it to his birthday party on Thursday at [insert worst bar ever here] – nice save. The usual stuff.
When you’re moving out of New York City, however, that list gets a little longer, and a lot more ulcer-inducing.
Breaking the News
When you’re making a big move, your friends are going to need to know about it. When you’re making a move from NYC to anywhere outside of the Tri-Borough area, they’re also going to need to spend the remainder of your time together talking about how much of a giant, unimaginable, ridiculous mistake you’re making. Eventually, you will run out of pleasant responses about your personal quality of life preferences and move towards staring blankly at them through the chatter while imagining a monkey clanging symbols beating around in your brain. Just keep smiling. Or drinking.
Canceling Your Gym Membership
You’re going to need a letter stating your intent to cancel the membership. Don’t forget to send a copy of your birth certificate, proof of new address, a photo of a llama dressed up like a Christmas elf, and vial of a homeless man’s blood to the gym, via certified mail, please.
Don’t be silly, there are like, a million places in the city that sell moving supplies/boxes. They’re all just at least 20 minutes walking distance from your third floor walk up apartment. This is where a pack mule might come in handy. Just dump it somewhere in Williamsburg when you’re done. Problem solved.
Moving Your Furniture
You know what’s super fun about IKEA? You get to build it once you’re in your apartment. Wait, that’s not fun. You know what’s super un-fun about IKEA? It probably isn’t going to fit out of your door once you’ve had all that fun building it. Luckily, you have two options, and they’re both pretty solid. You can choose to go full Office Space on your wobbly black or white furniture and wreck them into more move-friendly bits, or you can play a game called “avoid the pedestrians” with an open window and a prayer. The choice is yours, and the IKEA “fun” never stops!
Finding Your Last Cab
As you stand holding two suitcases, a backpack, a duffel bag, and a sweatshirt between your teeth, expect for open cabs to pass you. Expect suited asshats to upstream your pitiful baggage display. Expect cabbies to roll their eyes when you say “LaGuardia, please.”
But most importantly, expect things are about to get so much better than they are are right now, as you sweat it out in the back of a violently jerking taxicab in NYC.