Move-On

It is what it is. That’s all one can really say about anything. I have no fucking clue why things happen the way they do. I have no fucking clue if things have meaning… if things “happen for a reason.” No idea.

Like they said in I Heart Huckabees,

“I'm doing the best that I can. I know that's all I can ask of myself. Is that good enough?”

I try to be the best person I can. I try to treat people with respect, but to also recognize injustice and stand up for myself in such cases. Why do I have to learn again and again, that relationships are difficult or neighbors can sometimes suck ass… I mean, who the fuck cares. Move on.

So why then… to top off death threats and aggravating landlords, did my move have to go the way it did?

Friday morning my ex-wife Midge arrives ready to help me and the movers move. My last move, I hired 2 guys at U-Haul to help, and they finished the job in less than 2 hours. I paid and fed them well for their hard work.

I decided this time to check Craigslist for movers that had a truck, who would just arrive at my door… The company I found on Craigslist, Bell Movers, charge by the hour. I figured it wouldn’t take longer than 2 hours because this time, I didn’t have flights of stairs to go up… only 3 flights to go down…. And I had LESS stuff. A lot less.

The minimum for the move was 2 hours, and I figured that’d be fine… gave me some breathing room.

Back to Friday morning. The movers show up almost an hour late. I tried calling a couple of times to find out where they were. My messages were left unreturned. Finally, they show up. However, these were NO movers.

The first guy, about 60 years of age, could barely hop down from the truck. The other guy was stoned off his ass. Needless to say, I was livid. Paying by the hour, these were the last people on earth that I’d want moving me.

I mean, who moves slower than a stoner and a 60-year old man with back problems?

The story gets better…

As we walk up the stairs to my apartment, the 60 year old, FARTS IN MY FACE. Not a quiet little air-poof, but a loud “no mistaking that as anything but a fart” fart… I mean, he went for it.

He did the, “oh oops, sorry about that.”

What does the Stoner do? He laughs. That’s what stoners do. Move slow and laugh. I laughed too and then looked around for the hidden cameras because this was fucking UNREAL.

As soon as I showed them where it was, I ran downstairs to once again call the moving company and tell them what a joke this was and that I’m happy to have their movers leave, so I can get real movers from uHaul… or that I’m simply not paying the full amount.

No one answered, and I was stuck. They had my credit card information. I didn’t know what to do. So, Stoner and 60 moved me very slowly. 60 was weezing on his way DOWN the stairs in the first 15 minutes. I asked him if he was okay… he mentioned he had bronchitis… oh fucking great. Midge later heard him tell the other guy he thought he was going to die. Awesome.

My ex-wife and I decided to help because we needed to high-tail it to Sonoma for our company trip.

We finished an hour and a half job in 3 hours.

I told the mover I was sorry, he seemed very nice, but I was only going to pay for the minimum of 2 hours because not only were they late, but they were not movers. I asked him if he could honestly tell me that the other man was in shape to move. He said he couldn’t answer that question. I said that he’d be able to answer it if the guy were in moving shape. He smirked.

This experience was an injustice. Sometimes I have push-over tendencies, but not this time… I didn’t want Mr. Boys Club to take advantage of me and to exploit unfit laborers… so this was / is a battle I was going to fight.

Naturally, Stoner was now able to get someone on the phone. My ex-wife excused himself because he knew it wasn’t going to be pretty.

They not only charge by the hour, but they also charge driving… they said they’d comp me the driving… I fired back with an, “okay, that will make-up for the 45 minutes they were late, but not for the people they sent.”

They said they weren’t budging. I said the same. They said the job was already done. I said I would’ve stopped the job as soon as they arrived, but I couldn’t get anyone on the phone… and if I had just sent the movers back, I knew they’d charge my credit card, and argue what they’re arguing right now… that a Stoner and a 60 year old man are adequate movers.

I told them, I hired 2 movers to be paid by the hour, and I got a half of a mover. I said, I’m paying for what I got.

There was more back and forth and back and forth… until one guy tells me he’ll take me to small claims court for the $70 I’m not paying. I told him to go right ahead and that I won’t pay a dime in that case. I told him he can collect all the money in court. Another guy gets on the phone and tells me to just pay the 2 hours and that there’s no way they’re going to take me to small claims… that the other guy is just trying to strong-arm me.

I said whatever and paid the 2 hours.

There I was left with all my junk in my new room… pissed beyond belief. Speaking of piss, I looked in my new walk-in closet… and the cat had just pissed in it.

Man-oh-Man.

Now I’m just waiting for that notice in the mail to take me to small claims… hahaha… who the fuck knows. They say they won’t, but you never know. My older sister Naughty-Nadia tells me I’ll just have to counter them with a suit for lost wages, mental and physical stress, and false advertisement… not to mention having a mover on drugs. (by the way – he was talking to my ex-wife all about the fat blunts he smokes)

Oh please Mr. Boys Club… please take me to small claims court, so I can show you how it feels to get fucked up the ass with my nine-inch heels. Sweet – sweet boys.

Needless to say, my ex-wife has never seen me so pissed… he wasn’t there to see me tell Nazi-neighbor to go fuck himself… now that was pissed.

So I ask… why do these things have to happen? There’s no point. So I moved. Again. And I got pissed. A lot. And learning to hire different movers isn’t some huge life lesson. Who the fuck cares. Having a Nazi-neighbor taught me nothing. I already knew there were crack addicts and assholes. I already know how to stand-up for myself. I know these things.

In the end… all I can say is… IT IS WHAT IT IS.