Moving-In Day - A Tale of Terror...well...Horror?

I seem to recall that when Al and I were young and wanted to move from place A to place B it was hard work but kind of fun.  We'd call up a bunch of friends, buy a case of champagne, and hand a bottle to each helper to refresh themselves as they saw fit, and somehow it all got done in a day and everything went back to normal pretty quickly.  Nothing got broken, nothing was lost, and all the furniture was set up exactly the way we wanted it.

That was then.

I seem to recall that when we moved into the house we just left it was a "Move from Hell".  The unloading team here a handful of guys we referred to as "gorillas" because they seemed not to care where they put what, despite our instructions, and laughed rather a lot about piling up most of our boxes in the garage.  And we had lived in a small place so didn't have a great deal of stuff.

Perhaps it's the rental of strangers' musculature that makes all the difference.  The move out was exhausting and  stressful but somehow or other it got done.  The sad thing is that during the weeks and weeks before the move that I spent packing, I carefully inventoried every item that went into each box.  Then time ran out and I had to contract Bekins to finish packing for me.  Their inventory sheets listed things like "Stor all con, pbo/cm" or "cube carton".  I don't recall owning any Stor all cons...Happily, the packers wrote on the outside the room from which they'd packed whatever-it-was but here I am, 2500 miles later unable to find my telephones, my kitchen utensils, and a myriad of other essentials.

Yeah, I know I'm bitching but believe me - that's just the tip of the iceberg.  I'm telling you this horror story for a reason and it isn't JUST to relieve my own frustration, though frankly, venting it is helpful.

The moving van in front of our new car.

While the guy who drove the truck was very professional and helpful, the team he had to hire from "Gator Moving" up in Gainesville had an issue or two.  They were three young men and we should have anticipated trouble when they showed up an hour late.   The day itself was lovely - not too warm, not too cold, just a few fluffy clouds in the sky - the occasional new neighbor coming by to introduce themselves...then came the  Three Stooges.  Well, honestly, two of them had a nice attitude and all three were very respectful however one of them - the youngest, was one of those kids who want to do exactly the job he was told he was to do and to move anywhere outside that definition was to mortally offend him.  His name was Sonny (I knew this by the tattoo on his neck that said "Sonny").  So picture this, if you will.  Al and I are strategically positioned in the garage, ready to examine every box and piece of furniture and specify where it was to be put.  The one exception to this was that the team was warned beforehand that there was a great deal of furniture to go into the room designated as the Office and much of it had to be put together, so the boxes marked "Office" needed to be set aside for the time being.

The day was VERY long, and before it was over I dearly wanted to burn every cardboard box with 10 miles but at long, long last the final box was off the truck and the furniture was in the house,.  Mostly.  Sort of.  See, it was getting late and Sonny got antsy because the driver (Kevin) told him he had to help put together things like the guest bed and the office furniture.  He starting whining about how he was hired to take stuff off the truck and nothing more, and turning to us, assured us he would move those "Office" boxes into the house out of the goodness of his heart.  Kevin gently read him the riot act, telling him his job was to make the Bekins customer happy and to quit being childish.  Sonny shut up but remained surly for the rest of the job.  Al tipped him anyway.  There were a lot of boxes...there still are.

And today I've been trying to unload the RV...alone.  I keep thinking about those three guys who, as it turns out, put boxes...oh, it any room they felt like, left stacks of them scattered all over the place, set down some of the furniture so the drawers were facing the walls, and quite nearly left Al's dresser in the guest bedroom (glad I caught that one!).  Such quality work.  Aren't you proud of our young American workers?

Anyway, the bottom line - the reason I've told you my tale of woe is to give you fair warning!  My Aunt Pearl and Uncle Sam were right all those years ago when they moved from New England to California!  Take their example to heart and SAVE YOURSELF!  If, for any reason at all you decide you need to move, do NOT pack up your stuff!  SELL EVERYTHING and start over on the other side!  I'm serious!  I know you've kept your mom's Rococo-Baroque lamp for all these years but GET RID OF IT!  Save yourself.  Hire an estate liquidator.  They take a percentage but they do all the work for you.  Think of the fun you'll have designing a brand new home when you get to wherever-it-is!  A new home - a new look - and no hassles, no idiots putting your clearly marked Living Room item into the kitchen.  No broken furniture, (part of our waterbed frame got broken so we have to buy a new one, despite having carted the heavy old one across the country), no lost items, no living in a forest of cardboard.  Believe me - it'll be worth it.