The text went something like, “I’d volunteer to help if only I weren’t in the midst of moving Hades … which would be a good name for a band … Moving Hades.”
War is hell. So is moving.
But all the cool kids are doing it. ‘Tis a season of transition in these parts. The housing market is decent, for sellers anyway. For those desiring a change … or perhaps downsizing empty nesters (raises hand) … now is the time.
You know going in that it’s going to be an arduous process. That craziness will ensue. That you’ll work hard, violate your doctor’s orders never to lift heavy things, and pretty much sacrifice your body for the greater good.
|I sacrificed my fingernails for the greater good.|
|Agent P will make it all better.|
The last week has been full of insanity and peculiarity. In my world the planets aligned such that not only was I moving on a holiday weekend but close friends were as well. Not the best time to recruit help, but we managed to assemble separate teams. And acquire sufficient boxes and packing paper and tape.
God will provide.
The contents of my house moved to three separate locations. Long story. Trust me that it took some input and several days of churning around in the brain to figure out the plan.
Some of my belongings are going into storage for now. I had secured a storage unit about a week ahead of time … or so I thought. The manager, Celia*, was a bit willy-nilly over the phone. She assured me I had the unit. I could bring a check on the first. No need to stop by earlier.
July 1 arrived and I headed over to the storage units with my dad midday. He’d be driving the big truck later, so I thought it would make sense for him to have a visual of which unit was mine.
Apparently I should have called first. The sign in the office window read. “At appointment until 1:15.” Celia’s name and cell number were included. I called and she assured me that after 1:30 or so would be fine. “Okay, great, I’ll call before I head back over.”
Dad and I went to my house and took care of several moving related activities. At the appointed time I called the storage unit manager. All was good. Off we went. Upon arrival, another customer was being helped by Celia’s co-manager. He then looked at us to see why we were there. I said I was going to rent the 10x20 unit I had been talking about with Celia.
“It’s gone. I don’t have it.”
“What? I have a truck rented and I’m moving things in tomorrow.”
“I don’t have it. The owner rented it and didn’t tell us.”
After a couple more questions and a minute or so to accept this reality and form Plan B … the manager gave us the name of another storage facility to try.
From my research, a couple other locations were on my short list. I had law enforcement input on the security of said locations (thumbs up), so maybe I was meant to have my possessions at one of them.
I pulled up a phone number on my smart phone in the car, still sitting outside the office of storage facility #1.
“Yes, the 10x20 is still available.”
“Can I bring you a check right now?”
He was in the middle of something and asked me to call back in an hour or two. Okay. That’s positive. But not a done deal.
I pointed out to Dad that a favorite bakery run by some lovely people we know was nearby .
“Need a cupcake?”
He left it up to me. The bakery would require making a left onto a sometimes busy street. I decided if traffic was reasonably clear when I got to the intersection then it was a sign.
Score! It was clear. Sugar low averted with a pretty blue frosted almond and a German chocolate. The drive home was like déjà vu all over again. How many times have I driven this loop again? Just today?
Again at the appointed time I called storage facility #2. Voice mail.
Really? Really? Really.
Dad suggested we just drive by on the way to pick up the moving truck. Brilliant idea. And it worked. We tracked down one of the owners mowing grass, and I left a few minutes later with a key to my secure, well-lit storage unit.
Onward to the truck rental place. We were within two minutes of on time. What looked like probably my truck was being checked in. The two ladies returning the vehicle were spun up. Spun up! Granted they just finished moving. But they were giving us the impression the truck was a death trap. It whistles. The lights flicker. It needs retired from service. “You do not want this truck. Well if you’re just moving locally it’s probably fine. We’ve been all the way to Coshocton and back.”
Coshocton and back. Now that’s practically halfway across the country.
It was the only truck of that size available in the vicinity. I have no info on whether you could find one in Coshocton.
The employees handled the situation with grace. They offered to have the manager call the ladies the next morning to address their complaints. They offered all kinds of concessions.
I just wanted a working truck in a reasonable timeframe … because people were arriving at my house any minute to start loading the truck.
Given the Storage Unit Wild Goose Chase of 2016 that immediately preceded me being in this place at this point in time … an issue with the truck would be par for the course.
The truck was fine.
It was fine!
Dad drove it to the house. I picked up pizza and headed home.
Did I mention the truck was fine?
A motley but very capable and appreciated crew loaded furniture and carried boxes and loaded furniture and carried boxes.
My packing boxes and running stairs for days beforehand paid off. I had staged items for the different locations in different rooms. Between the truck and a pickup truck and a minivan and a couple SUVs … and the awesome crew … we were so far ahead of schedule we unloaded at locations #1 and #2 Friday night and parked the truck at location #3. A couple more peeps assisted with unloading Saturday morning. I had originally thought we might not unload at all until Saturday.
I have spent the days since taking care of nitpicking remaining items. Snagging help here and there to help carry and transport things. Tomorrow I drag the trash out.
And Friday I am officially free and (in a way) homeless.
For more Moving Things from my friends, see Sue Bowles at bebold7.wordpress.com and Leisa Herren at life4inga.blogspot.com.
* Name changed to protect the innocent or guilty. Not really sure which.
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