The movin' biz

I said I'd try to write something about this weekend's moving shenanigans, and I did--I tried. Mightily. But you see, I had another move last night that kept me out until basically 10:30. I had not found a reserve of energy to write much of anything--certainly not anything with a theme that tied all the loose ends of my life together in some kind of lesson.

Suffice it to say Saturday was an adventure. "B" had scheduled a move with me for the previous weekend. I was to pick up a bed, armoire, and nightstands from a seller down near Quantico--just outside of my travel zone. Because she was a referral from one of my first customers back when I was charging pennies for these moves, and because I was still a coward about asking a premium for my services, I was only going to charge her the same amount. (I won't even write the amount here because I'm so embarassed.)

However, miscommunications caused me to to go all the way down there only to discover the move was off. The apartment B was moving into hadn't been vacated yet. I don't know why. So, we rescheduled, but the seller was miffed and sold the crap anyway.

B ended up buying some different items from a guy much, much closer to me. I was pleased. So, I show up at the new seller's place, (a poster child for anything Mac, if I've ever seen one), and load up the stuff. B is running late and not answering her phone. I started getting worried, but passed the time by talking to Mac Boy. Mac Boy must have been born with a trust fund, because he talked about eventually getting a real job. In the meantime, he was moving to Florida to be near family. He might get an internship somewhere...

B finally showed up an hour-and-a-half late.

She had taken the Metro, so she was riding with me. Nice, nice lady, but by now I was getting the impression that she was one of these people who were lightning rods for drama. After about an hour of fighting through D.C. traffic in a truck towing a trailer full of junk, we found her new place.

Guess what--it was occupied. And the tenants were having their own personal Woodstock in there. When B came back to my truck--AFTER I'd unloaded half of it--she reeked of reefer. "We're going," she said.

Interior monologue: Where to, precisely, cupcake? Unless you've got a better idea, I see a nice place right over there by the dumpster. I'm not carting your crap around on yet another move unless you've got a large cash reserve in your purse...

Actual words: "So, where to?" (I've never been accused of having a spine.)

Luckily, she knew of a Public Storage nearby--it was just over there, on the other side of the Capitol Building. Sigh...

Let me just cut this boring story short: Five hours later, we'd managed to get her stuff in storage. I was positive that she'd tip me big, but she apparently thought paying me 75 percent of the cost of two moves was sufficient tip. AND, she had the gall to ask me to drive her to the Sprint store because, naturally, she'd lost her cell phone.

It was on the way, so I did. But I swear, if she'd taken advantage of me 16 or 17 more times, I would have put my foot down. Probably.

I had only one other move that day, thankfully. And thankfully, she'd called to move the time back a bit. Not much to say about that move--it went well, (except for when I dropped a mattress on her foot). However, I felt horrible for her. She was in foreclosure, and the shitty little apartment she was moving into sucked the soul from my chest. She was going from a small, but well-lit and airy condo to a place with old, buckling parquet floors accessible only be driving through the alley behind a supermarket. She'll wake up every morning to the stench of rotting lettuce. Still, despite her circumstances, she did tip me handsomely. Despite the broken foot.

And yes, by the way, I AM in touch with her about the place. She was vague about the foreclosure details: "I just...I just didn't care anymore..." I don't know how far along in the process she is, or if it's a done-deal, but there may be potential here. She bought it for around $250,000, so who knows?

Let's see...lessons...lessons...

Oh! Here's one: Don't let people walk on your face in golf shoes. Yes, that's a fitting analogy for this weekend's lessons. I will most definitely be applying this lesson to all of those customers who ask me if I can add some surprise items to the load. It's happened about 95 percent of the time--I show up expecting to move a bed and a couple of nightstands (easy work with a hand-truck and furniture dolley) and they've "discovered" that they also have six or seven boxes of bricks that have "sentimental value."