I think it actually comes living with my my Dad and my late brother John. John had severe cerebral palsy and as a result couldn't walk or talk or do anything that most of us take for granted. The only muscles he could control were his neck and eyes. But he was a genius... literally. IQ of somewhere above 150. (The number seems to change a little bit every time Dad tells it, but sufficed to say, John was smart.)
So, imagine you have a child who's totally "there" upstairs, but can't take part in ANYTHING his siblings, peers, or even nieces and nephews do every moment, every day, every year. Dad did what any AMAZING parent would do and just plowed right through all civility and convention to make sure John got as many opportunities as possible. If this meant holding up a line so that John could cast a vote for himself, he did it. If it meant driving extremely slow so that John could take in all the sights of the city, he did it. You get the drift...
Disclosure: It should be noted that I think my Dad was particularly gifted with plowing through civility and convention. It may very well have been the reason God put him on earth. But we've no time for theological discussions right now.
Anyways, as a child and then teenager in this unique family situation, I grew to LOATHE the inconvenience that we were imposing on others. I was mortified about 95% of the time, not by John, but by Dad. I know, I know, what teenager isn't mortified by his parent? But from this specific phenomenon grew my "inconveniaphobia". I've even built a worldview around this concept, which has varying degrees of biblical accuracy during the day. Am I loving my neighbor by driving slowly? Am I doing it for their good or for my good? The ethical vertigo is getting to me...
So, imagine if you will, my feelings about moving:
Exhibit A: I rent a moving truck. A 25 foot long, 13 foot high moving truck. Which has to be driven slowly. And somewhat down the middle of the road as I am unfamiliar with its size and do not want to sideswipe every parked car. Also the sky is pouring buckets of rain, so visibility sucks.
Exhibit B: There's no where to park said moving truck on my new house block. And, let me clarify, not buckets, but we've escalated to bushels of rain, so every possession we're moving is going to be destroyed.
Exhibit C: I refuse to double park under almost any situation. Especially on this, my new house block. Double parking is the height of self-importance. "My time is more valuable than your time. Therefore, I claim the right to obstruct traffic with my vehicle so I can just make a quick stop. Which, we all know will actually take 30 minutes."
Exhibit D: The block is frequented by Septa's Route 18 bus, a behemoth of a vehicle herself, piloted by less than reliable automotons known as Septa employees. So pulling "a little" off the road is not an option.
Exhibit E: The only viable option is to pull onto the grassy median strip of this boulevard block, thereby shredding up the pretty green grass that all my new neighbors front on. See above notes about rain which I now amend to a desription of buttloads of rain. Trash public property/viewshed...? Check.
Exhibit F: The aforementioned Dad is standing on the steps of my new house as I pull up, shouting instructions as to where I should park on the the grassy median strip. I mean, like directing me from 50 yards away as I drive a 25 foot diesel engine through the city. Also present are 2 to 3 other guys with different perspectives on the situation yelling different directions. ALSO PRESENT: A line of 3 to 4 cars and a bus behind me, waiting for me to MAKE UP MY F****ING MIND AND PARK!!!!
Which I did. Successfully. Thankfully. With God granting me the grace to only swear at my family, whom I love, like 6 times and mostly inaudibly. The biggest part of the ordeal was over.
After that, moving was a breeze. We had lots of people. My mom made sloppy joes. My wife survived the stress whirlwind. No one broke anything. We returned the truck on time. Everybody was awesome. We had beer and cigars. We're in! No more moving trucks for several years!
And my ulcer has mostly gone away.
