“Bro, the town, like, says I can’t make a fence taller than 6 feet, but I, like, need 10 feet to, like, hide my bonfire and bong parties. So, I built, like, a 6-foot fence and dug a 4-foot hole next to it,” Ziggy proudly proclaimed as my eyes took in the surprise excavation project.
If you’ve followed my escapades at all, you’ve surely become acquainted by now with my bong-partying, manic energy friend Ziggy Robbins. Around the office at my company and at home with my family, he’s a real legend by now.
So, when my phone rang one blustery March day last year and I heard the familiar, expletive-laden voice of Mr. Robbins, my mouth twitched into a grin before he even got his first sentence out.
“So, dude, like, I need to move that shed, like, a few feet again, like, as soon as possible. Can you come move it, like, next week for me?”
“Sure,” I responded. “Where do you need me to move it?”
“Well, like, the town has been, like, really giving me a hard time because, like, it’s still too close to the property line,” Ziggy grumbled. “And, like, I need to move it a few feet next week or they’re, like, going to start fining me every day.”
Grinning to myself, I shook my head and rolled my eyes. This guy was the gift that kept on giving. Every time I interacted with Ziggy, I gained new levels of astonishment at his life and his incorrigible problem-causing skills.
“Sure thing, but I’d like to come take a look first,” I replied wisely. After my previous experiences, I was finally catching on that with this particular client, nothing was ever as it seemed. “I’m coming through there tomorrow. Can I stop in and take a look?”
“Sure, Mr. Kauffman, I’ll be here all day,” Ziggy cheerfully affirmed. “I’ll be cleaning up and getting ready for the move.”
Accordingly, the next day found me breathing the familiar secondhand fumes swirling around my pot-smoking repeat customer.
“So, like, I need to move the shed up against, like, the carport,” Ziggy explained as he waved the well-chewed blunt pinched between his fingers. “Then I’m, like, going to build a fence around it and keep, like, my nosy neighbors and the city inspector from, like, seeing anything in my back yard.”
Surveying the planned move, I decided it was fairly straightforward and would require only a few minutes with the Mule and some pipes. The overhang from the carport prevented me from using the dollies as I normally would, but a few PVC pipes would help the little shed slide sideways quite well.
With the next Tuesday agreed as the day I would move the shed, I reminded Mr. Robbins that the shed had to be empty and took my leave from the overpowering essence of marijuana’s finest.
An early morning rain freshened the air a week and some days later, and the clouds were parting with rays of late spring sunshine as I rolled to a stop along the quiet street in front of the now legendary address.
Puzzled a bit by the 6-foot privacy fence I was quite certain had not been there the week before, I double checked the house number; although, by now I didn’t need to because I had been there at least four times already.
The neat line of posts and the solid cedar boards hid everything from view except the roof of the fated shed. For a few moments, I wondered if Ziggy had moved the shed himself in a fit of manic energy, but the roofline clearly denoted the shed’s location still too close to the property line.
A growing sense of unease furrowed my brow as I climbed out of the cab and walked to the gate to take a look.
“Mr. Kauffman! You’re early,” a cheerful voice rang out as the familiar figure of Ziggy rounded the corner of the fence right then.
“Five minutes early is on time for me,” I replied. “Beats being five minutes late for sure.”
My zinger about his habits went completely unnoticed. “So, what’s with the fence?” I asked. “I thought you were going to build that after I moved the shed.”
“Dude, like, I had some extra time last week, and I, like, decided to get it done before the rain this weekend,” Ziggy bragged. “Looks nice, doesn’t it?”
Strictly speaking, the fence was quite nice. However, I decided to withhold judgement until I saw how badly the newly constructed fence would impede my shed moving endeavors.
Following the ever-chattering Mr. Robbins around the corner and through the gate, I stopped in disbelief. Not only was the fence too close to the shed to maneuver my Mule in place, but the space that was left was piled high on two sides with mounds of dirt, stacks of brick, and piles of gravel.
However, none of this caught my eye quite like the third side of the shed. A gaping, 4-foot hole in the ground spanned most of the rest of the tiny yard. There was room to scoot between the hole and the shed if you were a skinny dude and you sucked your stomach in, but for a big fellow like me, it wasn’t going to happen.
Speechless, I turned to Ziggy wondering how I was even going to start my next sentence.
“Pretty cool, huh?” he replied to my unspoken query. “I, like, dug it out over the weekend. Bro, the town, like, says I can’t make a fence taller than 6 feet, but I, like, need 10 feet to, like, hide my bonfire and bong parties. So, I built, like, a 6-foot fence and dug a 4-foot hole next to it.”
The bottom of the excavation was graded smooth, and pavers covered over half the lower level. Disbelief mixed with admiration at the little guy’s work ethic muddled my brain.
“How do you think I’m going to move the shed now?” I queried. “I can’t even get my Mule in here, and the only side that is approachable is the side by the carport.”
“Dude, like, I don’t know, but you’ve always surprised me, and, like, I’m sure you’ll have, like, zero problems!”
The confidence in his voice didn’t translate into instant ideas in my head. Instead, I stood there trying hard not to just walk away and head to the next job.
As any true shed hauler knows, difficulty and seemingly impossible tasks eventually stir a rebellion in us against the idea of giving up. Besides, I had a premonition that a new story was brewing here.
Making my way around the shed over the mounds of dirt and bricks, I reached the door and opened the little shed. To my surprise, the previously packed building was mostly empty.
“Those empty cardboard boxes are okay, right?” Ziggy asked, peering over my shoulder. “I figured the lightweight stuff was fine.”
“Sure,” I replied. “I just have to figure out how I’m going to actually move the shed with all that other stuff in the way.”
Surveying the available space under the carport, I caught sight of the familiar figure of Lem Parker as he slouched into view. The glassy-eyed grin on his face prompted my own sheepish grin.
“Whassup, dude?” he drawled. “You think you can move it, like, after Ziggy dug that hole? Like, I told him not to.”
“Well, I guess we’ll see,” I replied as I cast about in my mind for a solution to this problem.
Finally accepting that there was only one side I could approach the shed from, I headed for the truck to get my Mule and the needed pipes and chains.
As I jacked up the little barn and slid the pipes into place, I stifled a grin as Lem and Ziggy regaled each other with tall tales. It was clear that both were a bit high as their tales were even taller than normal.
With the limited room I had, I was left with only one option to attempt the move. The shed had to be dragged sideways about 6 feet, and I could only pull with my Mule. The far side of the shed had several tons of dirt and gravel piled up next to it, not to mention the fence 5 feet away and no gate or other access to that side of the yard. The gigantic hole in the ground made sure of that.
Now as handy as a Mule is, it is somewhat limited in pulling power if the shed is not actually being lifted by the Mule. The tracks simply do not have that much traction. Fortunately, the shed was small, mostly empty (or so I thought), and the WD-40 coating the PVC pipes made a slick surface for the skids to slide along.
To my surprise, the first pull with the Mule slid one end of the shed over quite easily, and I managed to move the shed at least two feet before needing to reposition. The other end of the problem building, however, had not moved at all. Shifting my chains closer to that end of the shed, I tried again, but to no avail.
Puzzled, I finally managed to get one fork of the Mule under the rim joist and lift a bit to improve traction. However, the tracks spun in the loose gravel, and the shed sat there unperturbed.
Opening the door to the shed once more, I surveyed the limited contents in bewilderment. That end of the barn seemed significantly heavier. My suspicion settled on the harmless looking jumble of cardboard boxes piled up, and I stepped closer to kick them aside.
The first box moved easily enough, but my foot screeched to a halt as it contacted the second box. Bending down, I spread the loose flap covers, and then it all made sense.
At least eight bags of concrete premix were hidden in the mess of cardboard boxes and newspapers.
Stepping outside, I called out, “You never mentioned the concrete you stored inside here, Ziggy. That’s all got to be removed.”
This time it was clear to me that Ziggy had genuinely forgotten the dead weight, and his red face and desperate apology were matched only by the speed with which he managed to relocate the bags to his porch. Lem managed to move two bags in the time Mr. Robbins transported the other six.
“Like, I totally forgot, Jason. Like, totally!” Ziggy blustered between breaths as he moved the bags in record time. “I’m really sorry, bro!”
“Aw, it’s ok,” I replied. “We all forget stuff. Like, I forget which guys keep getting me into tight situations, and I keep answering my phone when they call.”
Winking at Lem, who definitely got it, I fired up the Mule again, and after another 15 minutes of wrangling the shed inch by inch, I managed to get the roof line up close to the edge of the carport.
“How close do you want me to go?” I asked. “You’ll want room for the rain and snow to drip off both roofs rather than pour together, right?”
“Naw, like, bring them right together as close as you can, bro,” Ziggy answered. “I’ll caulk the gap and let the water, like, run out each end.”
The laugh bubbling in my chest stopped short as I saw Mr. Robbins was totally serious.
Clamping my mouth shut, I did his bidding and managed to get the two roofs within an inch. How that was going to work long term was not my problem.
However, I thought later as I rolled down the road with the cash in my pocket, it might provide another opportunity to move the shed yet again. That would in turn almost certainly provide another story to add to the legend.
After all, somebody has to keep the code officer and me busy.
