So remember when I was griping about moving out of my dorm room? Yeah, that’s nothing compared to moving into an apartment. The sheer numer of tasks to be completed is about thirty times higher, and therefore the number of things that can go wrong is proportionally higher as well.
For example, you may discover that the people who have come to deliver your mattress arrive two hours earlier than they said they would, so you must rush back to your house from wherever else you were. Then you will discover that they cannot get your boxspring up the stairs, and they will call their manager and hand the phone to you. Their manager will not be very nice or understanding in the slightest, and she keeps telling you that in order to buy a different kind of boxspring, you will have to buy a different mattress as well, because they cannot sell you a boxspring and a mattress from two different manufacturers, because company policy. You will snap at her (“So will it combust if the mattress and boxspring touch each other? Are they loaded with gunpowder? Is that safe?”), and then you will cry, because the woman at Sleepy’s convinced you that buying a mattress is the second most important decision you will ever make in your life and the one you have chosen is your soulmate.
While you are crying, the delivery men will try one more time to get your boxspring up the stupidly narrow stairs. They will maybe kind of break the banister, but they will succeed nonetheless and then you will cry some more because they are so nice and also because you realize you are the girl crying on the phone to the mattress company.
(You decide that the lower someone’s product falls on maslow’s hierarchy of needs, the kinder those people have an obligation to be, because their customers are not going to be able to stand up for themselves.)
You may try to print out photos at CVS, because you find that it is nearly impossible to unpack your clothes until your room feels fully decorated. You realize that this is a personality flaw, but carry on. When you arrive to pick up your photos one hour later, the staff give you a blank stare. They know nothing of your order. But wait! You have a confirmation email! They look up your order number. Nothing. Which is why, three days after moving in, you have not unpacked your clothes.
You may try to go to Target to buy lots of basic house things that you never knew you needed, like shower cleaner (which will unscrew itself in the car and pour all over everything) and measuring cups. You will try to purchase all of these things and your credit card will be declined. At first, you will think that this is because your parents have decided you’ve spent quite enough money thank you very much, and you will call them and tell them that you’re sorry, you would spend less money if you could, you are trying to buy your comforter at Target for heaven’s sake, you don’t know whether a cheaper option exists. They will say that there’s definitely money in that account, so you will call the bank and the bank will tell you that they saw a large charge in a new city and decided it was fraud. You will tell them that it is not fraud, and you will tell them your father’s birthday and your grandmother’s maiden name, and eventually you will be able to buy your crappy comforter from Target (you will dream of someday buying a nice fluffy one from Pottery Barn but that is neither here nor there at the moment).
You may try to wash your new dishes before you use them, because you heard somewhere that this is what you are supposed to do. You will discover that the dishwasher uses enough electricity to trip the fuse. You will discover this while trying to put up a shower curtain in the bathroom, when you are plunged into darkness.
You may lose your zipcard upwards of four times.
You may try to set up wireless internet. Perhaps this will go smoothly (who are you kidding? No it won’t). Alternatively, you will spend three hours on the phone with various people who either think that you are cognitively impaired or are poorly designed AI/voice recognition systems themselves. You will discover that the cable with the little spinny pin thing can’t go just anywhere, it has to go into a specific little screw thing in the wall, and why didn’t anyone tell you this? This discovery will only solve one third of your problem.
You may want a bike. The world will say “NO FUCK YOU.” You may want to make pasta. You will aim for al dente and end up with horribly undercooked. You will waste bolognese sauce which is your favorite kind. Your mother will tell you to have a glass of wine. Your bank will say, “NO YOU HAVE EIGHT DOLLARS AND SPENDING IT ON WINE IS IRRESPONSIBLE” and your bank will be right, probably, because spending your last eight dollars on wine is something that I hear alcoholics do.
At the very least, you are not an alcoholic.