Chez Chulo -- The End of an Era

It's over. Erica and I have crossed the threshold of Chez Chulo, nee 79 Carroll Street, for the final time. This past Saturday nine angels came to move everything we had. My dear friend, El Jimador and eight amazing other guys showed up at 9AM (actually one showed up at 8. I'll get to that in a minute.)

These guys arrived in two 20' trucks, an SUV of some sort and an exact replica of Tony Soprano's Escalade. (One of the angels is having an identity crisis.) Within an hour, the entirety of our life at Chez Chulo had been packed into the trucks and was on its way to Park Slope and HomOwnership. By 2PM the guys have loaded the trucks, driven over to Park Slope, unloaded, moved the stuff into the apartment, sat down for lunch (which a tenth angel showed up to pay for) and I had my first Home Depot experience as a home owner. That is a moment that is simply indescribable.
That afternoon Erica and I returned to the old place to do our final sweep of the place and finish priming the last room. Well, being The Princess you know and love, in my excitement over being a HomOwner in Home Depot, I got the wrong primer. Oil based.

Crap.

Erica was out at the local drugstore picking up her final bottle of pills from her closest friend in the neighborhood, so I cleaned the kitchen, swept the whole place, threw out my last bag of trash and waited for E to return. When E got back we called a car and went into the backyard for our last time. Your Princess held it together amazingly well. My voice only cracked once and tears never actually fell.
But, before we left, I turned the fence lights on.
So. Back to the 8AM angel.

This angel is a special angel. This angel was recently released from prison after serving 25 years for a murder he committed when he was 18 years old. I don't know the details of the case but judging by his age and where he's from, my guess is that it was drug or gang related rather than some psycho, "The call is coming from inside the house," type murder.

I realize that many of you may not agree with me, but The Princess believes that there is a difference. (Now, I remind you, I am making these statements based on presumption. But I think my assumption is an educated one, so we're going with it.) I imagine that a lot of my fans would not take too kindly to a recently released from federal prison murderer helping move all of their worldly possessions into their new home. For me, it's strangely not a big deal -- except I enjoyed meeting him and spending time with him because it was amazing to see what growing up in Maximum Security will do to you.

I do admit that there was a moment after I sent Erica out with, we'll call him Maximum Security, to pick up coffee. I wondered for a second if that was a good idea, but that was squelched by the thought that he wasn't the cuckoo killer, just the gang killer, so I figured as long as she didn't piss him off or try to invade his turf, she'd be okay.

So, what was interesting about a day with MS was seeing his social interaction. Very odd.

First of all, he came into our house as if he and I were BFF. (Remember, he showed up solo an hour prior to anyone else.) Plus, as he rang our doorbell, he had his forehead pressed to the window looking in. Nothing threatening, you see, just a little too familiar for the first time you're meeting someone. Someone who is technically your client.

Then there were little etiquette issues. (Yes. I know. Snobby, but I am The Princess. It fits.) MS was a little presumptuous with things like sitting on top of my coat and purse in the only chair that had stuff in it. Either he was rude, or he didn't notice, or was opposed to the comfort of sitting directly on the cushion of the chair that was across the room with no coat or purse on it.

Again -- not malicious, odd.

Once we were at the new place, Erica took the ground floor and I took upstairs . We pointed where the angels should put things and made sure the stuff was on the right floor. MS complained that he couldn't do the downstairs stuff because going through the basement (this was not an easy load-in) affected his asthma -- which he mentioned to me many, many times. The Princess, being an asthma sufferer herself, had no sympathy for this. So, MS changed tactics.

Throughout the afternoon, MS tried the asthma sympathy card, the "look at all of this stuff I moved in. I did it all by myself" card while panting dramatically. (And while standing upstairs, a second angel came in and out several times with boxes that MS still maintained were moved by him, personally.) Then I got the "look how huge my arms are" story. I had to touch them several times and assure him, "Yes. They are huge and very strong." (I too, was trying not to piss him off.) It felt as if he were trying to impress me or get on my good side in any way possible. Probably something that was very necessary in prison with anyone who seemed to be an authority figure.

As the boys were packing up, I tipped each of them and MS snatched the money out of my hands like a starving stray taking bacon. Again, I feel this is obviously learned behavior from growing up in an environment where every thing you had needed to be guarded constantly. Interesting. A bit intimidating -- especially when he was standing on the sidewalk with his hood up and his sunglasses on and his arms folded in a "I dare you to fuck with me" pose -- but all in all, a seemingly decent guy.