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| Yeehawing in our U-Haul |
When I first got the news that I'd be going to Scotland, the first thought that popped into my head was, "Yippeeee!". The second was "Wait, do they have bibimbap in Glasgow?" (they don't) and the third, "Fuck. I don't want to move."
So for a little while, in spite of all the hand-flapping and beaming and proclamations of "When I get to Scotland I'm totally gonna be the female version of Mel Gibson in Braveheart!!!!", I secretly still had my heels dug into the ground. You see, I had just moved in with the boy seven months ago. In that time we painted the entire place anew, picked out a few pieces of furniture together, arranged the electronics to our liking, and were generally having a swell time living there. The condo was our comfy, cheery little nest in this great big city. The thought of disassembling everything, boxing it all up and shoving the contents of our happy place into a soulless storage unit was enough to make me reconsider the assignment altogether.
But then as soon as I got back from winter vacation, I told myself to put my on my big girl panties, count my blessings (you're going to Scotland, butthead) and start packing.
The silver lining of packing is that it forces you to prune each and every one of your possessions. Old jewelry and bags, 5k t-shirts, bell-bottom jeans, cute-but-horribly-painful-stilettos, my Aragorn action figurine, books from college...I found it surprisingly easy to forgo feelings of sentimental value, dismiss wonderings of "Maybe one day I'll use/wear/read this..." and toss a good amount of my things into the donation pile. Still, despite filling many bags with items to give away, the boy and I still managed to amass a fairly substantial amount of boxes and furniture to put into storage. Questions like "Whose idea was it to buy a cement coffee table again?" and "Why do I have four different hair brushes?" were asked, but the world may never know the answers to them.
Somewhere along the way we made the decision to not hire movers. After all, we were two young and relatively fit people, the move didn't require going up and down stairs, and the freight elevator in our building was rented out for a solid 3-hour block anyway. We figured we'd just take our time, save some money and get in a good workout.
All of that logic seemed sound until moving day arrived last Saturday. We both woke up feeling tired - the boy from his last week on the client site and me from coming down with a cold, it was 10 degrees Fahrenheit outside, and the stacks of cardboard boxes suddenly seemed like they'd tripled in quantity overnight. I began to feel quite stupid as I stared at it all. Should we have hired movers after all? Were we in over our heads?
There wasn't time to ponder this for long as we were on a tight schedule. So we carried on with the day's plan. We rode the L up to Fullerton to pick up our U-Haul and navigated back very slowly and carefully, wary of the icy roads and the extra width our fatass truck required. We pulled up to the loading area of our condo building at 11:50 AM, exactly ten minutes before our time slot for the elevator was due to begin. I hopped out to help the boy bring the U-Haul into reverse when I was approached by a distressed-looking couple.
"Hey there - are you the ones who are moving in today from noon to three?"
"Moving out, but yes - we have that time slot."
"Ok, uh well, we're the ones who rented out the freight elevator from 9 AM until noon. And well, our movers reaaaally messed up their timing... and they are just showing up now."
"Oh?"
"Yeah...so - we were sorta wondering - do you think we could share the freight elevator and both move in at this time? We're only on the fourth floor."
What? Was I on candid camera? This was an absurd request. We had paid the building's $150 fee to have exclusive use of the freight elevator from 12 to 3 PM, just as they had for the morning slot. We also had a strict deadline to meet for unload at the storage unit that evening. And we were already tight on time with just the two of us moving a Mt. Everest of cardboard. Sharing the only freight elevator - the biggest bottleneck of the moving process - was out of the question.
However, I had been hit with the case of the cannot-say-nos and could only sputter. "I - uh - well - er -"
Meanwhile, the boy was still in the U-Haul, which was still jutting diagonally across the street, and was frantically mouthing "No no no no" and shaking his head. I got the hint, gathered my wits about me and turned to the couple.
"Sorry to hear your movers are so late, that stinks. Unfortunately, we're on a tight schedule and cannot share the elevator with you during our move." They looked defeated but nodded like that was the answer they were expecting to hear and walked away. I got back to the task on hand of directing the truck.
A few minutes later, just as the boy had finished backing our U-Haul into the loading area, 4th floor couple's movers pulled up their enormous Penske truck and seemed confused as to why there was already another truck in the loading space. Some mass confusion ensued between the two trucks, two doormen who were rotating shifts, 4th floor couple, the two movers who were three hours late, and the boy and me. After a few minutes of chaos, the boy and I said to the group:
"Here's the situation. You have ten minutes left on your 9 AM to 12 PM elevator slot. Technically your truck should be here and not ours for the next ten minutes, but I think we can all agree that it'd a waste of time to switch them out to unload ten minutes' worth of furniture from your truck." Nods all around.
"We have a tight deadline and want to move out as quickly as possible. We're not willing to share the elevator, but we think we'll be done in less than three hours and would be happy to give whatever time we have left to you in our slot." 4th floor couple brightened upon hearing this. Not all hope was lost - maybe they could still move in today after all.
At this point we paused and looked deliberately at the two movers who have just showed up three hours late for their gig. "But...it's just the two of us moving. It'd go a lot faster if we had some help."
Before I go on, let me pause and describe the two movers. We'll call them Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Tweedledee was heavyset and had a tattoo of a dollar sign on his face. Tweedledum was older with white hair, thin as a rail, and looked like he'd escaped from a retirement home to make some sweet side cash.
Tweedledee picked up on the hint and immediately leaned in, all cool and hush-hush. "Well, ya know, we could help take care of you, as long as you help take care of us, ya know? Throw twenty or thirty bucks our way?"
Now 4th floor couple went from looking miserable to angry. Their movers showed up three hours late, brought on all of this confusion, and were now trying to do business with another group of tenants. The boy and I glanced at each other, knowing that we ultimately had the upper hand in the situation.
"We'll think about it," we said lightly before walking away from the group and heading up to our unit to prepare the first load for the elevator.
Not five minutes passed before Tweedledee and Tweedledum appeared in our condo and announced that they were here to help us move, at no cost. Golly, how generous.
And so the move began. I barely did much beyond give instructions and move some of the lighter boxes and items. Most of my attempts to help were thwarted with "Here, let me get that for you, missy"s. Truth be told, things probably did go faster when I was out of the way; Tweedledee proved to be an ox and was able to lift heavy boxes I could barely budge with enviable ease. I felt like I should've put on a bathrobe and waltzed around with a flute of champagne.
So that is the story of how we managed to score free movers and load all our shit into the U-Haul from our 30th floor unit in just over an hour's worth of time. Sounds pretty awesome - and for the most part it really was, except for the fact that Tweedledee and Tweedledum's motivation was to get us moved out as quickly as possible, not necessarily as well. As a result of their speedy handling, a few pieces of furniture were scratched along the way. I'm also not too optimistic about the state of the contents of a few boxes marked 'fragile'. Despite their rough work, we left a generous tip to show our appreciation - labor is still labor and we were much better off with their assistance than otherwise. I just won't be calling the company they work for, All My Sons, the next time I'm moving in the Chicagoland area. Something tells me 4th floor couple won't be calling them either.
After the hard part was finished, the rest of the move was as smooth as a baby's bottom. The boy's brother arrived in town in time to accompany us out on the drive to Elgin where our storage unit awaited. We were in good spirits and still had plenty of energy so unloading the truck into our 14x10 only took about an hour and a half. Ravenous and feeling accomplished, we wrapped everything up just as the sun was disappearing, put our trucker hats back on, and drove our now-empty U-Haul to the nearest well-Yelped Mexican restaurant, where we rewarded ourselves with a feast of tacos.
The boy and I have been shacking up at his brother's ever since Saturday. It feels weird and liberating to have most of my worldly possessions locked up far far away. The world is my oyster and I'm ready to take it on - now with a lot less baggage!
