Adventures in moving

     I officially rented an apartment, three rooms to call my own about a dozen minutes from work. Even more important, there's a Starbucks about 2 minutes away and a Kwik Trip (for which I have a credit card) just down the block from the coffee shop. The gas station even has decent coffee for those mornings I do not want to make two stops.
     But I digress. . .
     We rented a small truck from a friend. Though not huge, this truck is certainly large enough to accommodate all the furnishings needed for a one bedroom apartment. This truck is also conveniently outfitted with a lift. We rented the truck, we loaded the truck, we drove the truck. It was not a particularly comfortable truck. The fan only worked when the truck was at a standstill.  To get any air on the highway, we needed to open the truck's windows. The truck's seats did not allow for any adjustments. And the truck was incredibly noisy. Patrick and I shouted at one another throughout the entire trip.
     You may have noticed the repetition of the word "truck." One would think we would have been quite conscious of the fact that we were in a truck. Nevertheless, when we saw the flashing red and blue lights in the rearview mirrors, we could not fathom why we were being chased. Patrick dutifully pulled over and a Wisconsin State trooper approached the driver's side window. He greeted us and asked if we knew why he stopped us. We, of course, were baffled. He asked us about the truck and what we were carrying. Still baffled.
     Then he told us that since we were driving a truck we were required to stop at the Truck Weigh Station. Oops! Yes, we knew we were driving a truck and we knew there was a Weigh Station in the southern part of the county, but it never occurred to us that the sign meant we had to have our truck weighed. 
     (In our defense, we drive that route a couple of times each week and the Weigh Station is seldom open, but that was not worth mentioning.)
     We got out of the truck and opened the back. He saw that, indeed, all items were of a personal nature: mattress, box spring, sofa, chairs, table, footstool, Baker & Taylor boxes labeled with such telling words as "misc. office stuff" and "fleishig dishes."  Then there was the basket of yarn and bags of knitting projects. We certainly weren't transporting anything suspect. I imagine the trooper's only question (unvoiced) was, "How did these two fools manage to get driver's licenses?"
     He sent us on our way with a warning to replace the missing mudflap and that when we are driving a truck, we really must stop at Weigh Stations.
     It's really amazing the vast array of things that escape our notice -- no matter how obvious they may be. Did we learn a lesson? Probably, but that came several hours later when we decided the officer's warning was a mute point -- because we are never moving ourselves again! The lesson: the money saved by not hiring a mover does not compensate for the pain. I spent this morning trolling my colleague's offices for Tylenol. 
     I like that. Trolling for Tylenol, a reality show for baby boomers!