Scratch Beginnings_ Me, $25, and the Search for the American Dream - Adam W. Shepard [82]
But it’s not like that in the moving business. Moving is not an equal opportunity occupation. That’s how people were getting hurt, sent home with scarred shins, broken fingers, and strained backs. And hernias. Shortly after the new year, Chad, who was super strong and fully capable of carrying whatever was put in front of him, got twisted up on an armoire and tore a hole in his abdominal wall (“The worst pain I ever felt in my life,” he said) simply because he wasn’t on the same page with the guy that was on the other end. He was out of work for a month (and a month shorter than the doctor had prescribed). Two guys clashing in the moving business was a recipe for disaster, and Derrick’s proposition finally gave me the opportunity to get somebody else.
But we didn’t get anybody else in particular. We would have a different guy ride with us every day. Didn’t matter who.
“You wanna work? Cool. C’mon.”
“Uh, they haven’t hired me yet.”
“Eh, whatever. Let’s ride.”
A couple of times we even picked up a friend of Derrick’s on the way to the customer’s house, and once in a while we would do three-man moves by ourselves. It was crazy. One day, I was dropping pieces and falling off the truck ramp and scraping walls, and the next day I was a legit mover, carrying heavy pieces, clearing rooms by myself, and scraping walls. Customers that were looking at us at the start of the day like, “Um, where are the real movers? Y’know, the big guys?” would have ear-to-ear smiles on their faces at the end of the day when we would beat their estimated time by two or three hours. Derrick and I were even getting requested every couple of weeks.
The best part about it, though, wasn’t getting rid of Mike. I would have dealt with him forever, as long as Derrick was out there with us. The best part was the fact that Derrick, rather than taking the easy road and jumping ship, wanted to stay with me. And that was awesome. Some crews had been together for years, and some crews would only last two or three months before they dissolved. And it was looking like Derrick and I were going to last.
After Thanksgiving, my predetermined two-month window to live at Mickey’s place downtown was nearing its end. I could have stayed there forever if I wanted to (I know Mickey loved getting $100 a week for his otherwise vacant attic), but that’s not what I wanted. I wanted something more permanent, with a bed and my own kitchen and a living room. Maybe even a community pool and a tennis court and a nice view of the Cooper River. Finding a roommate was going to be the easy part, though. I did a little research at the Web site www.roommates.com and found a horde of people in the Charleston area looking for people to live with.
But just as I had compiled a hefty list of prospective roommates, Derrick told me all about Bubble Gum, and my roommate search came to an end.
THIRTEEN
WINTER WITH BUBBLE GUM
Saturday, November 25
After Thanksgiving, my project continued on its evolutionary path, but it also began to shift to more of a cultural one. Especially after I met my new roommate.
He got the nickname “Bubble Gum” when he was a kid. One of his cousins told him that his puffy cheeks made him look like his mouth was stuffed with bubble gum, and the name stuck. But now people only called him that when they were mad at him, like a mom using her son’s entire name for emphasis. Everybody called him BG.
He was Derrick’s cousin, and he had arrived unexpectedly at Derrick’s front doorstep in mid-October from their native Kingstree, about an hour from Charleston. Kingstree is a rural, backwoods town with its own flavor and atmosphere where one can always find excitement at places like Mirage—soul food restaurant by day, dance club by night. But just as Kingstree’s social scene is hot, the center of all of the surrounding country towns, the economy is cold, not offering much in the way of jobs or opportunity. Everybody has his or her own business and