Moving is supposed to fun. It’s supposed to be exciting. It’s supposed to be a new adventure. Moving is expected to be stressful, and hard-work, and long. Moving is not expected to be your first experience with crack-heads you’ve entrusted with your belongings who fall down your steps and break one of your brother’s travel trinkets. Where to begin (insert flashback waves)
Part of my signing on agreement with my new position is a moving allowance. Even though all of my positions could fit in one room and I only moved 90 minutes away, I’d be a fool not to take advantage of that allowance and hire a moving company. I looked up local movers, contacted a few, and picked one. The company assured me they bring the sticky paper to cover the floors, padding for the walls and furniture, and would be finished in just a few hours. They called a few days before to confirm the 8AM arrival time and how many large boxes I need. I packed mostly everything myself but left the items in my closet for the large boxes and garment boxes. I woke up at about 6:30 on moving day and packed the last minute items. The movers call at 7:30 to say they’re running late and will be there at 10. Okay, annoyed but no big deal. Little snafus always happen. Besides, that will give me time to eat a better breakfast. 10 comes and goes- no movers. 10:30, movers call. They are on a road about 5 minutes away and are lost. I prepared for this. I knew this would happen. My parent’s house doesn’t show up on most mapping systems so I gave them the intersection. Did they use it? No. Why would they? I give them directions on how to get there and expect them in a few. 11, no movers. 11:30, no movers. 12, no movers. You get the idea. FINALLY at 1 they come. The whole time my mom and I are calling them non-stop. Do they pick up? Why would they?
Okay, new chapter. Take a deep breath. Yes, they may be here 5 hours late. Yes, they may look like the company’s D team. Yes, they may smell. But they’re here and it’s moving day and NO ONE IS RUINING MOVING DAY. After my mom has an awkward moment with them in the street which I was positive was going to result in them breaking a few of my items on “accident” we get them moving. Did they bring the floor covers they said they would? Of course not. So the D team lays blankets everywhere. Any idiot can see that this is not safe but I’m moving on. Maybe the D team does know what they’re doing. Maybe?
Oh those blankets. Those damn blankets. Why couldn’t the D team be prepared? After moving along at a medium speed, the D team is almost done and I’m almost out the door. Then the D team leader, the she-man (no lie) that goes by George and Michael interchangeably, the very one that told me they’d bring the sticky floor covers, falls down the stairs carrying a heavy box and slides into the foyer table and breaks a trinket. Okay, lets analyze this. D team leader George Michael should have brought the sticky covers. Shim should have moved the foyer table in the very beginning. And shim should have known those blankets were a bad idea. And I can’t stop laughing at shim. Worse, I have no sympathy. I want to leeeeaaave.
Finally, at 3, we head out. Now my Mom and I are no fools. We know the D team will try to escape. So we flank them; I’m in front and she is behind. But the stupid northeast extension proves to be our Achilles heel and they escape as their truck putputs up the hill. They call me and say they are getting off to get gas. Okay, I know this is not going to end well.
4:30 and my mom and I arrive in Doodlehem. The cable company is there as promised and ready to set me up. While they’re doing that, my mom leaves to go grab us some grab and I wait for the movers. And wait. And wait. And wait.
Come on now, I hope by this point you know what’s going to happen.
7 o’clock pm. 19:00 hours. 4 hours after we left. They arrive. AHHHHHH. I just can’t process this anymore. I barely even talk to them. I grunt as they ask where things go. Just get the hell out of my apartment you are making it smell bad.
And that’s all I can say for now. I’m tired remembering this all. End of the story? Don’t hire Eastern Connection Movers.