The company name on a moving van which passed me was “College Hunks Hauling Junk.” I googled it. It’s a legit business. Just to make sure no one missed their advertisement, it was spelled out in bright lime green on an orange background so bright that you should probably view it through a pinhole in a piece of cardboard as if it were an eclipse.

I followed it for at least 20 miles, hoping to get a glimpse of the college hunks in the truck’s cab. When those guys apply for those jobs, who gets to decide if they’re “hunky” enough? I’d like to be on that committee. I never did catch up to the truck.

Unfortunately, I have no need for college hunks to haul my junk. Whether through inertia, laziness, or just a high tolerance for boredom, I’ve lived in the same house for nearly 50 years. When I look at all the “junk” I’ve collected, I’m overwhelmed. However, since we’ve lived here the Post Office has changed our address three times. It’s a much easier and cheaper way to “move.” Each time I proudly sent out the Change of Address announcements, knowing that the receivers would mistakenly believe I’d actually climbed out of my lethargic rut and made a change.

I may hire College Hunks Hauling Junk and pay them handsomely (ahem) to move all my “junk” out of my house and right back in again, just for the privelege of watching them work. I’ll bet when they pick up my sofa their youthful biceps bulge and their pecs glisten with sweat and their muscular thighs…where was I?…I just got a bit distracted. Is this essay sexist? Probably, but turn-about’s fair play, fellas. Get over it.

Although I’ve not moved in 50 years, I’ve helped others move, but only if I couldn’t come up with an excuse in time to get out of it. It’s a hazard of having a pickup truck and a strong back. I still have one of those features, but not the other. I’m a senior citizen, so you figure out which one.

I’ve helped move my friend Maria five or six times. Maria only gets the urge to move in July or August and she’s fond of third floor apartments. Her furniture is not the only problem. She’s a collector. She’s invested thousands of dollars on breakable knick-knacks in the optimistic belief that some day other collectors will be clammoring for the honor of paying hundreds of dollars for her four-inch ceramic statue of a teddy bear dressed in a yellow rain slicker, piloting a tiny ceramic fishing vessel. On moving days, each collectable must be carefully wrapped in tissue paper and nestled in a bed of bubble wrap and styrofoam peanuts, as if it were a genuine Faberge egg.

Maria has mentioned she’s getting ready to move again. I considered hiring College Hunks Hauling Junk for the task. I’d pay them myself, just for the privelege of watching those handsome young fellas work. Then I went to their website and discovered the word “H.u.n.k.s” in their business name stands for “Honest, Uniformed, Nice, Knowledgeable, Service.” They’re not necessarily college students or hunky. I may sue them for false advertising.

Taking a cue from College Hunks Hauling Junk, I’m thinking of starting my own moving business. I’d have to specialize in hauling just a few pieces of furniture, since I’m old and only have a pickup truck at my disposal. All I have to do is come up with a name as clever as College Hunks Hauling Junk.

I’d like your vote on one of these:

Arthritic Geezers Hauling Freezers

Senior Lunkheads Hauling Bunkbeds

Elder Grouches Hauling Couches

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