I was popular in university.

Well. Most of the time, not really. But in April when people were moving back to Onterrible for the summer, or off to tree plant for a few months, friends couldn’t get enough of me.

You see, my dad had a truck. The basement at my parents house was unfinished. I was a one man moving and storage company. Well, sort of like a company, but instead of money, I was paid with pizza. This pizza cost considerably less money than what was on offer. But as the dude with the truck, I took what I could get.

Hide-a-beds. Everyone seemed to have them. Back in the early 90’s they were different than they are now. These days, a sofa converts into a bed through a process of sliding and rearranging cushions. Back then? Back then things were different.

The hide-a-beds of old were a vicious construction of razor sharp metal coils and slats all sandwiched into a spring loaded nightmare. Most were more akin to a vicious razor wielding jack in the box than a place for a restful night sleep.

My friends didn’t make things any easier. they chose, with a combination of ropes, contortionism and sheer will, to install these chesterfields of mass destruction in the most impossible and improbable places.

Removing them was always a task. Moving a hide-a-bed with a friend is a combination of three wills. The will of each of the ‘friends’ and the will of the hide-a-bed itself are all involved. They all make themselves present in different ways.

Initially communication is very verbal. “A little to the left, raise your end and I’ll lower mine,” are phrases typically uttered. Meanwhile the hide-a-bed? It’s just decided to barf open, removing the first layer of skin from three of your knuckles. Glorious.

The reply typically leads to the bed tilting the other way. With that information, the spring loaded viper has a chance to sheer off some more knuckle skin. Bleeding knuckles, a sweaty back and a growling stomach make a dude do different things.

Half way through moving a hide-a-bed, cooperation changes. Sure, people are still giving verbal directions of what needs to happen. There is a veil of civility. Under the veil? Each of us was wrestling with each other via the hide-a-bed.

I remember once getting Noddy pinned up against a wall with one of these weapons. He was pissing me off that day having just crushed my knuckles between an arm rest and a banister. No matter. I could push on the sofa until he grunted and sighed. If his ribs cracked, I knew I had gone too far. Lucky for me, I wasn’t alone. I had the hide-a-bed on my side.

With bloody, sore and in my case possibly broken knuckles, the hide a bed had hit us both. It was as though it was waiting for one final strike. With Noddy pinned, it acted - springing forward and ripping one of his finger nails clean off his finger. He howled. He bled. He complained.

Noddy had no business using me as a moving company. I had no business acting as one. The hide-a-bed? It was prophetic. It’s random attempts to give us the hands of a millwright were a warning: Mind your own business.

Though I’ve loved helping friends with their moves through the years, the old saying is pretty astute in this case: You get what you pay for.

And when it comes to moving hide-a-beds, you frequently pay with a pound of flesh.

Where in your life is it more efficient to pay someone with cash rather than with sweat and blood?

What changes have helped this make sense?

I’m devoting 2023 to finding and registering the Remarkable Fools of the world. For Remarkable Fools, what was once an embarrassing or awkward, is now a thrilling leap to a life more fulfilling. How will we find the fools? A series of pop up live talk shows where the audience are also the guests. Highly interactive and playful, you’ll laugh till you cry or cry till you laugh.