Brandon panicked, trying to unplug and pack his gaming setup.
He’d left it for last, of course.
“You guys have to be careful with that!” he protested as a mover lifted his monitor.
“We’ll do our best, man,” the mover said. “But we’re on a timeline.”
Brandon’s precious ring light didn’t make it. One of the legs snapped.
I won’t lie. I laughed.
The best part, though, was the Great Designer Bag Reveal.
Tracy had built her persona on “classy elegance.” She’d parade around with Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Chanel. Her friends ooh-ed and aah-ed.
As the movers packed, one of the handles tore slightly.
The pattern underneath the “leather”?
Plastic. Printed wrong.
A series of similar incidents followed.
Her “Hermès” Birkin? Uneven stamping. Wrong hardware color.
Her “Gucci” belt? Label on the wrong side.
By the time the movers were done, she had fewer “designer” items than she’d thought.
When everything that belonged to them was packed and labeled for the storage unit I’d rented (because I am not a monster), the sheriff’s deputy arrived for the walkthrough.