Prepping for Wednesday's upcoming move got me to thinking about our last move. In June 2006 our landlords sold our condo out from under us. So what that we'd been toying with the idea of moving? So what that summer offered the best pick of available rental spaces? Dammit, we were going to have to move. What follows is what I wrote in an email, recounting the event.
** Forgive the somewhat meandering verb tenses... I'm too tired from packing to edit properly.
Tues, June 27, 2006 -- It's the height of summer and Nathan is sick with a nasty, snotty, wheezy, coughing cold. Just in time for the stress of the move. Oh joy. To alleviate some of the stress of moving, I booked a "professional" moving company, one more competent than the last one. (The previous moving company sent me some sub-sub-contractors who took a two inch chunk out of my wood floor when they weren't busy scratching and denting my furnishings.) This time, I even splurged on having the movers pack us up the day ahead. After all, moving with a 16 month old is no picnic. They've assured me that two guys can pack up a two bedroom, 1000 sf apartment in four hours. I get a quote. It seems reasonable. Life is good. Except for Nate's worrying cough and raspy breathing.
Wed, June 28, 2006 -- I finally get Nathan in to see the doctor and, naturally, he is a lot better -- happy, smiling, energetic. The picture of health. The doctor thinks Nathan may have "reactive airways" which is a precursor to asthma. He may outgrow it; he may develop asthma later on. That would explain, though, why colds tend to make him wheezy. She also gives him a prescription for antibiotics in case he doesn't get 100% better, soon. The movers call and want to know if they can pack us up Thursday instead (as they've overbooked themselves for Friday). They've got to be kidding. How will I cope with everything packed up for 48 hours and a sick toddler? I tell the company, no way.
Thurs, June 29, 2006 -- I have a day free to pack miscellaneous belongings before the moving company comes to pack. Nathan is much worse and I get nothing done all day as he just wants to cuddle with me when he's not sleeping. He takes 5 naps -- a record for a kid who hates to nap. We decide to get the prescription filled. David and I go to our weekly Ultimate Frisbee game and Nathan is placid (for once) on the sidelines.
Fri, June 30, 2006 -- We sleep in after frantically packing until the wee hours of the morning. And then the fun begins. One mover (instead of 2) shows up to pack us. He tells me he's been working two weeks straight and this was supposed to be his day off. I show him around and he looks ready to panic as much as a laid back, tattooed skater can. After I finish showing him the place, he tells me he doesn't have enough boxes with him. Apparently, we have a lot of stuff.
Meanwhile, Nathan decides to puke up his medicine (2x). So while the mover starts in on the kitchen, I'm busy washing our sheets, duvet cover, pillow cases, his clothes, etc. Over the thud of the dryer, I hear the mover on the phone to his business asking for another guy. There is a slight sound of desperation in his voice. I, too, am a little worried. He's been packing for a few hours now and hasn't emerged from the kitchen. I peek in, but it's hard to see anything amongst the ceiling-high boxes and mounds of packing paper.
Eventually a second guy shows up to help out "for a couple of hours". He takes one look around and tells me we have a lot of stuff. After eight hours (five of which there was a two man crew), the packers leave. The house is not yet finished. By a long shot. In fact, the kitchen is done and about three quarters of the living room. That's it. They leave boxes for the rest of our stuff.
David arrives home and is not so happy about having to do more packing. Actually, he's a lot not so happy. We sigh, get to it, and finally collapse in the wee hours. The place still doesn't look close to finished, but we ran out of boxes.
Sat, July 1, 2006 -- Four movers show up at our place. Hmmm... they told me it would be a 3 man crew. Apparently, we have a lot of stuff. One of the crew members is a high school boy who is skinnier than me. Another is the owner of the company. I guess yesterday's packer called to warn him about our place. At least they brought more boxes.
Kindly, our landlord has arranged for cleaners to come at 11:30 am to clean the place. Naturally, the cleaners arrive at 9:00 am, adding another four people to the seven already milling about the condo. They tell me that this is the only time they can clean. The movers haul the boxes out as the cleaners try to clean the bathrooms and kitchen around them. It's about as successful as it sounds.
Leah thankfully shows up at 10am to take Nate and the dog for the day. While David and I take apart the king-sized bed, pull shelves off the wall, etc, the movers are still moving boxes. We run some errands, come back at 12:30 to hand the new owners the keys, and the movers are nowhere near done. And they've managed to smash the glass coffee table, while the owner giggles nervously at me, "I always say it's not a move until some glass breaks."
Great company motto, I whisper to David.
Meanwhile, the seniors in the building (85% of the building population) are having fits that the movers are still using the elevator, and daring (gasp) to prop the outside doors open. They start harassing the movers. Then they start harassing our landlord. He starts harassing us. We start harassing the movers. Eventually members of the Strata gather mafioso-like, arms crossed, leaning over their walkers and canes, around the front entrance and the moving van. I huddle behind David, scared they might attack. I've seen "The Sopranos". Finally, by 3:30, the movers are done. (We've been told by the Strata that in 17 years, it never took anyone more than 3.5 hours to move out. Somehow, I don't think the Strata was impressed by our record.) Now, I don't think the movers were perhaps the most efficient crew ever. But, to be fair, we have a lot of stuff.
We finally roll up to the new place. Have I mentioned that it's an unseasonable 40 degrees Celsius? With me as mover #5 (and David "supervising" in the house, beer in hand) we unpack the truck in 2 hours. The movers offer me a job. They've never seen one person cram more stuff into a 2 bedroom apartment. They think I must be the best packer in the world.
We all have a beer (except the high school kid who, responsibly, refuses one). After presenting us with a scary looking bill that looks nothing like the original phone estimate I was given, they roll away into the sunset. David and I are surrounded by a mountain of boxes. We can't even see the kitchen. We decide to go Asian minimalist. We are selling everything.
Sun, July 2, 2006 -- We spend all day unpacking the stuff we are keeping and stacking the stuff to sell. We have about 40 boxes full of stuff, and six large pieces of furniture to get rid of. Two weekends from now will be the garage sale to end all garage sales. We need some help manning the yard, if anyone's interested. We have a lot of stuff.
