The plaid-shirted checkout guy at Trader Joe’s and I compared lame upcoming weekend plans as my pistachio nuts crossed the scanner yesterday. “Watcha gonna do?” he asked. Get a storage unit, I replied. Not to be outdone, he topped me with his: “gotta drive my pickup to Albuquerque and load it with fire wood, and bring it back.” Oh. Sorry man. As we silently consoled each other, I got to thinking about that storage unit.

Specifically, the multiple storage units taking up literal and figurative space in my life. With every interstate move, home sale, new build, and job change, there’s been off-site storage. A place to park the custom-designed monster granite desk, or collection of paintings from a favorite artist in Prescott, AZ. Until the keys to the next house get handed over, all this stuff sits in wait. Preferably in a ground floor unit to save transport time and preserve the vertebrae in my spine. Some units have been better than others. For example, there are three side-by-side units filled with my husband and my entire furniture collection in a clean, bright, temp-controlled facility in Goodyear, AZ. We hope to reunite with these items in December when our new home in Santa Fe is complete. We also hope we remember what the hell is in those units.

Is there a hidden camera in here?

Not all storage units are equal, I’ve learned the hard way. A sudden job relo from a spacious Philly suburb condo to a Boston shoe box apartment required some furniture shuffling gymnastics. We consigned a lot of it, including that monster granite desk only a team of linebackers could haul, but still had more that wouldn’t fit into the apartment. The closest storage unit with availability (during a January snow storm) resembled a set from Law & Order: SVU. I didn’t dare use the bathroom after encountering the creepy manager who was too happy to show me where it was.

Buyers don’t wanna see that..

Some storage unit rentals have to get locked in even before moving out. When you own a place, then list it, the realtor naturally has an opinion. I’ve heeded the “that has to go..” advice with every house we’ve listed to date. Sadly, it’s always the gym.

I’ve pleaded, justified, begged. “How am I going to stay fit/sane/strong during this crazy-ass sales process?” I cried. To no avail. Every realtor we’ve used (and they have all been awesome) insisted a nice throw rug, settee and coffee table would appear more inviting than my husband’s Rogue weight rack, workout bench, TRX ropes and 40 Lb dumbbells in the den to the future family shopping for a home.

And for the love of God, insisted another realtor, stop burning the yoga incense. Bake cookies instead.

Nice on the outside, frat house on the inside

I’ve also learned a beautiful storage facility is only as good as the people you hire to get your stuff in there. Our current units were arranged by our good friend/mover/retired Marine who could market himself as the Marie Kondo of moving companies. Perfectly tidy. The previous move from South Carolina to Arizona..not so much. Opening the doors should have required hazard tape. We ended up replacing a number of pieces and writing it off as lessons learned.

This weekend’s storage unit tour will be simpler. Just a small space to get us from our current rental (a giant house) to a smaller in-city abode until December rolls around and our final home is complete. And guess what the small unit will hold? My husband’s gym equipment, of course.