Tag Archives: movers

The Prodigal Daughter Returns

For all my musing about giving Maybe Next Tuesday a chance, it was wasted thought. He turned out to be Maybe Next Thursday, and following a few more texts, became Mr. Maybe Not.
Which is just was well, because, as previously noted, I had too much going on to deal with it.

Friday afternoon brought a request for a job interview Monday afternoon, and I knew that with the movers coming that morning to move my furniture, it was a bad idea, but the recruiter was so firm about 2:30 Monday being the only available time and how perfect a fit the job would be, and I was not in a position to decline, so I said I would make it work.
Saturday I took possession of the new apartment and spent the rest of the weekend moving all my clothes and dishes and electronics over one car load at a time. I thought that the transition would be easier this way—without packing boxes and moving things directly to their home in the new apartment meant no need to unpack on the other side. But by the time Monday morning came around, carrying so many loads down the stairs and going back up again that my muscles were so sore that I felt I could barely walk.

I had originally scheduled the movers to come at 10:30am, but when I scheduled the 2:30pm job interview I called back and rescheduled them to come at 8, and Sunday night I called a third time to confirm the movers would have dollies because I did not rent a truck and the trek from Apartment A to Apartment B was probably about the length of two football fields.

Already a bundle of nerves, I woke at 4:00am Monday to the sound of heavy rain. I lay in bed trying to force myself to sleep, but I realized I didn’t have a mattress bag to protect my mattress from the rain if it didn’t stop. Realizing that my brain was amping up and resistance was futile, I got up and turned on the TV and listened to the weather coverage while scouring the internet for where I could get a mattress bag before 8am.

The earliest to open was 7am at a U-Haul approximately 4 miles away so I took a bath and painted my nails to pass the time until 6:30 and then ventured out into the torrential downpour figuring I would allow extra time for poor rush hour drivers and flash flooding. The streets were flooding and the forecast called for heavy rain to continue on until 11am. As I purchased the mattress bag, the thought of renting an extra dolly flitted through my mind, but the person on the phone had confirmed their movers would have one or two, so I dismissed the thought to my later regret.
I made it home by 7:45 and when the movers did not show up at 8am as promised, I continued to watch the weather report and figured that would excuse up to an hour of tardiness, but when 9am rolled around, they still had not arrived, I called and someone said they were on their way. Thirty minutes later, same story. 10am, same story.

I called back and said if they could not make it by 10:30, I would have to reschedule because of the time crunch. Again I was reassured that they would make it by 10:30. I kept my cell phone on me and started moving lamps and other smaller pieces of furniture that I had planned to leave for the movers.

10:30 came and still no movers. Called again and they said don’t worry, they had gotten held up by the rain but they had added a third laborer to the originally scheduled two and would make up the time. Many frantic phone calls later and after three failed attempts to reschedule because they were booked for the rest of the week, they finally arrived at 12:15pm, swearing they could move everything that fast. By this point, despite all the willpower in the world, my legs began to mutiny and balk at the notion of any more trips up and down the stairs, so I watched frightfully from the ground as each piece of furniture was carried down and over.

Now my regrets sank in even further as I learned that in spite of multiple phone calls confirming they would have dollies, they had none so I found myself refereeing them as they came up with not so brilliant ideas like rolling my round leather lounger on the concrete and one worker trying to support the weight of the dresser with his head against the particle board panel that holds the drawer fronts, causing it to cave, and then —

I came out of the new apartment to see two of them balancing my washing machine on a comforter on the trunk of their Cadillac while the third drove the car very slowly. It was 1:15 and I still had to shower and drive thirty minutes across town for the interview. My heart swung like a pendulum between my throat and my feet as I watched a repeat performance with my dryer. I kicked them out and told them their boss could wait for my call to release their payment.

The world’s fastest shower and change and a few orange lights later I was on the dot for the interview. I said all the right things but I was wound so tightly from the journey to get to that moment that I probably sounded like an auctioneer and the law firm was not impressed. We exchanged to requisite pleasantries and parted ways, and I sent a Hail Mary email thanking them for their time and attempting to hit a few points I knew were missed in the interview, but I knew that job was not to be mine. By Thursday it was confirmed.

I was too tired to think about Maybe Tuesday, so I guess I was relieved when he didn’t reach out until Thursday night, and asked if I had plans for dinner. I said I was too tired to eat but had left over pizza in my fridge if I changed my mind later. That was the last I heard from him. In retrospect, I should have probably realized that “What are you doing for dinner?” was probably a precursor to “would you like to have dinner together?” and I had unthinkingly shot it down quite effectively. I could mourn the loss of opportunity, but then, I go back to – if he didn’t make an impression the first time, probably no big loss the second time.

I didn’t lose much sleep over it.