It all boils down to penis size; tell the warring parties to whip them out and measure them = no more posturing and bickering.
When I help arrogant men move or vice-versa, I mostly defer to them. I don’t feel the need to prove I’m better at packing or loading or lifting or whatever–I hate moving and I want it to get done ASAP, so I let them stroke their ego so we can just get the whole ordeal over with with no posturing, etc. I do have a pretty good spatial imagination, so every once in a while when I really think we’re bringing a couch through at the wrong angle or something I’ll say so. After they ignore it, try it their way, and find out that my way was better, they usually listen more closely. Works better than the peacock strut. 
That said, I’ll join the male chorus here and note that most of my multi-man moves have gone pretty smoothly, without much bickering. Especially if the person with the most moving experience is the designated leader. But on the gripping hand, there’s a certain masculine enjoyment to the verbal pissing contest, for both parties. Men can be verbally abusive to each other and laugh about it over beers. Some men, anyway. Me and one of my friends from work have no qualms about telling each other how horrible the other person’s taste in movies, liquor collection, etc. is; his girlfriend is always horrified but it’s all in good fun.
Some guys really do have more moving experience than others. For example, the guy who helped me move some of my furniture last time used to be a professional furniture installer so he had a lot of experience hauling bathtubs, couches, etc. up and down staircases and through narrow hallways by himself–I let him call the shots and it worked out pretty well. Like anything else, it’s an individual thing. When I’ve moved with other men it’s usually been a collaborative process. Unless my dad was involved, but then again he’s an asshole and a control freak.
I did in fact try that as a diversionary tactic Mangetout, but they just blushed and called for a coffee break!
Very odd. In every move I’ve ever helped in, the men were uniformly organized and efficient. Many of the women were not.
The worst move I ever helped with was moving my mother into her current home. There were 7 or 8 men involved, two pickup trucks, a suburban, and one trailer. She claimed she had everything packed and ready to be loaded. This was a lie. We started moving at 8 am and did not finish until 8 pm. We men spent 12 freakin’ hours lifting heavy things, loading heavy things, then unloading heavy things and being told to put them there, no there, no wait, maybe there, ok, nevermind, just put it there for now. Oh, wait, no, put it THERE. A little to the left. It’s not heavy, is it? Right. Did I say left? Sorry. No, other left - I guess that would be right. Nevermind, it’s fine. Go get something else heavy.
She had so much junk that it took us 5 or 6 trips. That’s 5 or 6 trips with two pickup trucks, a suburban, and a trailer.
My sister also helped move. She lifted two boxes, stubbed her toe on an imaginary rock or something, and sat down and did nothing else the rest of the day. My mom frantically went around making things frantic, and telling us we were loading things wrong, we had to be careful with this or that, and generally running things about as efficiently as FEMA did the aftermath of Katrina. Whenever she’d run off to be frantic about something else, efficiency in the area she left would go up 100%.
After those hellish 12 hours, I was so exhausted that I actually passed out. Before pizza and beer.
If she weren’t family … :mad:
So, kambuckta, how do two women go about moving a couch, table, or fridge?
I spent a summer working for a moving company, and I have moved myself at least ten times in as many years.
However, I know better than to speak up when the men are moving stuff. I wait for them to get completely up the creek, they are not interested in my help before that point.
I’ve only ever participated in two moves with women involved, one woman per move. One of them was completely useless and the other pulled her weight. All men have been organized and efficient. So I guess 100% of men are good at moving, and 50% of women suck at it.
Nah. When Middlebro (M) and SiL were moving to their new house, it was with the help of Littlebro, myself, their married friends N and A, and the respective Moms. Each Mom did what she thinks she does best: SiL’s Mom made enough food for about 25 people which she expected us to eat before even starting the move, Mom sat down and gave orders.
A is huge. He was also providing his van (much bigger than the tiny car Middlebro had).
M had obtained a truck which his employer loaned out for this kind of purpose. Both A and M had truck licenses, so M was going to drive the truck.
Since the stuff was M’s and SiL’s, A was not trying to take charge, but he looked very, very 
at some of the decisions M was making.
Until Mom pointed out that, since A is used to moving heavy stuff around day in and day out, maybe it should be him who decides how to stow what and in what order? One of her eyebrows was raised so high you would’a expected it to take flight.
M got this “I’m going to strangle someone” look. A said “uh, actually, it might be she’s right.”
M shot him murderous daggers, which missed in spite of their target’s size. “Well, hey, I DO move delicate an’ heavy stuff every day. Stuff which isn’t even ours so you have to be extra careful. And stow and unstow trucks, you know.” (He’s a truck mechanic and often has to move some or all of the load out before he can work or move the truck to the shop)
M growled “right” and A was in charge. Which speeded things up by a factor of about 300…
By calling their two men to do the heavy lifting, of course. Isn’t that what you guys are for?
The big heavy stuff gets loaded first. The Medium sized stuff next. And so on and so forth…Every guy knows this. There is no room for arguement or supervision.
Also, if you are teaming up to lift, the person whose back is facing the door upon lift must continue walking backwards until item is properly loaded. No turning allowed.
Anyone attempting to “discuss” the situation is just a trouble maker.
You want the truth, kambuckta?
You can’t handle the truth! Silly woman, we live in a world that has shit that needs moving. And that shit has to be moved by men with strong backs. Who’s gonna do it? You? You, kambuckta? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You laugh at the chest-beating and you curse the Movers. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that all that grandstanding, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives…You don’t want the truth. Because deep down, in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want me moving that sofa. You NEED me moving that sofa.
We use words like “pivot” and “my way or the highway” and “testosterone”…we use these words as the backbone to a life spent moving something. You use 'em as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a woman who rises and sleeps under the blanket on the very bed I moved, then questions the manner in which I move it! I’d rather you just said thank you and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up one end of that couch and start carrying. Either way, I don’t give a damn what you think you’re entitled to!
It’s not always that simple though. Sometimes you have a number of oddly shaped pieces which have to be fitted together like a 3D game of Tetris. One time I had to deal with a table with removable legs, except that one of the bolts was rusted on and that leg wouldn’t come off without a saw, which was not an allowable solution. Said table was presented to me once the moving van was already packed to the gills, so I had to create a one-legged-table-shaped hole near the ceiling.
I read this to my husband, HSHP - he wept.
You wanna see some fancy moving?
Get yourself some friends who are caterers. Those are some people who know how to pack a vehicle, get shit packed and moved, efficiently. They even have access to vans.
I have moved with men who do not exhibit this tendency you describe. However I do have brothers so I know of what you speak. But many men I know are not this way.
The oddest part, I think, is that through the mists of time, over a beer in some bar, this will turn into a, ‘remember that time,’ for a couple of great chums. Men are just odd.
If brute force doesn’t work … you’re not using enough! :smack:
By the way, I actually hire professional removers (and play computer games on my laptop while they get on with it).
Not that it matters, but I did the original version of this monologue in college, when it was still a play, before the movie came out and made it famous. 