One day before we moved in the wife called the PODS folks to make sure that our two trailers full of furniture and outdoor equipment were going to be delivered on time. The movers we used are in high demand and work by the hour - we only had a small window of opportunity, see.
Also, it’s the year 2012 and, since the world has gone all Atlas Shrugged and no one knows how to do anything correctly from beginning to end anymore, only the truly foolish think “Well, I’m sure everything will be just fine”. It's always best to check.
The guy at the other end of the line said “Yes, ma’am, your trailer will be delivered Saturday at 9”. Trailer? Not trailers, plural? Uh, oh...
After about half an hour of shouting the PODS delivery folks found the other trailer but said it was scheduled to be delivered a week later. Also, they couldn’t tell us which one had our furniture and which one had our lawnmowers and other garage stuff in it. This would have been great to know before we were forced to play Sophie’s Choice with our stuff, thereby risking being huddled together at night on the Husqvarna instead of our beds for a week.
Eventually they agreed to deliver both our trailers on the promised day at the promised time... for an additional fifty dollars, of course, since we were “changing” the delivery date and time. We said, “Fine”. We will pay the fifty dollar Mafia-like shakedown fee to make sure our furniture “doesn’t suffer an unfortunate accident” or whatever your game is.
It’s times like this where one of my wife’s hidden talents really shines through. She is normally calm and composed - the paragon of self-control in crisis situations, in fact. She can juggle nineteen different things and still be around for friends in need. She is a great cook, a great mom, and she’s even kind of cute.
But, brother, if you try and screw her out of a single copper ha’penny she will come down on you and your organization like the Fist of God and she will not stop until she has lain waste to everything as far as the eye can see, collateral damage be damned. I usually try to not be around when she shifts into that mode... I... I think I once heard her get so angry she started using Klingon swear words and began peppering her fury-driven invectives with “Thee's" and “Thou's" like an Old Testament prophet...
By the end of the "conversation" they agreed to get all our stuff to us on time. We didn’t have to pay the fee.
The next day I got to say a phrase I don’t think anyone has ever said before: “The POD people are here - thank God!” The movers did a great job.
A week after we moved in, all the furniture (well, all the furniture we owned at that time, anyway) was in and all the boxes were emptied. The boy was playing with his Legos in the living room when the realtor (finally) came by to get the FOR SALE sign out of my garage. Remember how I said the living-in-a-hotel-slash-house-hunting adventure was over for him? Well, seeing her, he nearly lost his tiny, three-year-old mind. He shook his head and in a clearly panicked voice he repeatedly told her “We... we live here now! We live here now!” We assured him she was just there to visit and he calmed down somewhat but he was visibly on edge until she left.
Poor little dude.
The new house officially became “home” about a month ago when we hosted our first party. We called it a soiree, but I am pretty sure the neighbors thought it was closer to a hootenanny, what with all the cars lined up and down the street and the overly loud and underly talented guitar-playing blasting from the room above the garage. Eh, let’s split the difference and call it a shindig. We had a blast.
And, other than a lot to say about the weather here, that’s about all there is to the moving-to-a-new-place story. We are happy to be here and we look forward to many years of enjoying our new home.
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