When I moved to Georgia, it was such an ordeal that I swore I would never do it again. Circumstances forced me to relinquish this vow, but this second move wasn't any more fun than the first one and had some added stressors like the fact that I was out of town right before the move. I did mention that October was a very busy month for me and that I would have a lot of blog posts about that month. :-) I'll probably talk about my trip later, but in the meantime, moving. Sigh.
I returned from my trip late Monday afternoon to discover I had a warning about low tire pressure. None of the tires looked low to me, so I drove home and spent the evening driving back and forth between houses with stuff I didn't want the movers to take.
Tuesday included a phone call from Comcast to confirm my installation and they had the address wrong. The guy said he'd have the rep I talked to call me back. It would be about ten or fifteen minutes. I decided to wait to take my shower after the rep called, then I'd hop in and we'd take the car to the service center to get the tires taken care of. And I waited. And waited. And waited. It was hours before the call came. (I'll do a separate post about Comcast because it deserves one.)
After getting my tire inflated--there were no issues with it--we moved more things between the two houses, but waiting for Comcast to call really hosed up the day.
Wednesday the packers came. There were three of them and they weren't there nearly as long as I expected. The oldest of the three complained about the hill, but the other two seemed fine with it and the team leader even said he hoped he'd be assigned to move us the next day. I said to my dad, "Watch, the one guy who doesn't want to be assigned to move us will be here tomorrow."
Thursday proved me right.
Ah, Thursday, the ordeal that went on and on and on. We have too much stuff and that's a fact, but we have two households squeezed into one. My dad moved in with me after my mom passed away and he brought a hell of a lot of stuff with him. We thought we were building a house and would have plenty of time to go through things and get rid of some of them, but the change in plans left us scrambling to make the move.
We loaded the moving truck twice. It took nine hours to move us and the guys never took a break, not even for lunch, which means I didn't have a break either. My dad did get one (good thing) because he stayed at the old house while I told them where to put things at the new house.
So the guys had to deal with the hill at the old house and the stairs at the new house because all my books (and those boxes were heavy) were going upstairs. I started apologizing at some point during the afternoon. They were covered in sweat and tired and they kept going up and down the stairs over and over.
Overall, the move could have been worse. It was worse when I moved from Minnesota and those national movers damaged a lot of my furniture. Severely. I did have damage this time too. The three pieces of furniture that I bought after I moved to Georgia are now scarred. The stuff that was banged up in the move from Minneapolis had zero damage. I'm guessing that's a offshoot from Murphy's law. I console myself with the fact that these guys didn't rip two legs off my sofa like the movers from Minnesota did.
It's all relative, but there are more adventures tied to this move that I have yet to blog about. Stay tuned.
