When Movers Go Bad

To say that today sucked barely scratches the surface. After two days of being told by the packing crew that we would fill an entire truck, this morning the actual truck arrives and it is not empty.

So all our stuff will not fit. It seems the sales weasel underestimated the amount of stuff by about 3,000 pounds. You know, not too much, just the combined weight of the entire cast of a Cirque du Soleil show.

After both Elizabeth and I express our individual flavors of displeasure at the suggestion that any overflow will arrive two weeks late, a series of phone calls and more screw ups culminates in the completely unexpected.

The driver leaves. Without our stuff. In his defense, the driver left because the moving company was trying to stiff him. There was nothing personal and no hard feelings. We actually had a lot of respect for the guy for sticking to his guns.

After he left, Elizabeth and I sat staring at each other as if our entrails were hanging out.

The details that followed are about as exciting as someone describing a manicure blow-by blow, but at the end of the day, the moving company agreed to come out tomorrow, put our stuff in storage, and ship it out Monday or Tuesday.

Moving cross-country is about as irritating as the entire Vienna Boy’s Choir scraping their fingernails down a chalkboard.