Here’s a timeline of the past 7 days. It wouldn’t constitute a book so I’ll do installments.
Day One: Thursday March 27
The movers arrive to my now (prior) home promptly at 9:00 AM. They start off all friendly and such. Making sure we notice just how carefully they’re moving things, not scratching the walls. You know, that whole pre-show. Eventually their pace heads south. Around noon, I ask if they brought lunch. I don’t have an unpacked pan to make grilled cheese, but I offer to pick up some fast food if they like. They decline my offer then retreat to the back of their van to take a nap. I was hoping they’d jump on my offer cuz I was planning on picking up some sugary crap food to get Act 2 trotting along. Like a box of eclairs from Dunk’n Donuts, but no dice on that strategy.
Sadly, all the one hour nap did was make them groggy and significantly less productive. Throw in a pinch of grumpy for garnish.
My husband is a procrastinator, so mid-move he’s still making decisions regarding whether or not to pack all eight boxes of Saran Wrap as opposed to four. In order to decide on this earth shaker, he must get a cup of coffee then smoke nineteen cigarettes. As per usual, overkill wins and all eight boxes are on their way to our (now) new home just one hour away. I remind him we’re not moving to the Amish country, just Philadelphia. They’re bound to have stores.
Side note: While unpacking, one box contained the garbage can from underneath the kitchen sink … FULL! I’m not sure if he couldn’t decide what garbage was worth bringing or the groggy movers just grabbed the can and wrapped it up like a piece of fine art.
The van is finally loaded by 3:00 and they’re off. I’m in the car with a full tank of gas and I even drove through the car wash, waiting and waiting and waiting. Our neighbors (now majorly missed friends) know that of the two of us he’s the nice one and I’m just some disgruntled old man. I often feel they look at me and then him thinking man he coulda done so much better.
Back in the idling car, I witness he’s not even started to go through the farewell line that’s accumulating down the driveway. Especially once the train from Grand Central empties out. Yes it’s 5:30 and he’s still shoving things into the car. One dog is sandwiched in between an expensive sculpture and the Kitchen Aid mixer. That can’t be good.
The car’s down a quarter tank of gas as I refuse to give any indication that I’m happy about this delay while more stuff is stuffed (hey is that where that word came from) to the point that all views through all windows are completely blocked.
We finally hit the road looking like the Clampetts minus Grannie on the roof. It’s 7:00 PM.
I’ll stop here cuz that’s just the front half of Day One and I’m already craving a Klonopin.
Hey, it takes a village.