|My ducks were all in a row. What's up with the movers?|
If I were to write a screenplay based on the last eight months of my life, ninety percent of the dialogue for the poor actor playing me would be:
This morning I was up at six-thirty to be on the road by seven-thirty, to meet the movers at the old house. I arrived a little early, and started throwing a load in the car. My emotions were running pretty high. Although I was quite excited to finally be getting my furniture, the memories of more than thirty-five years in that house were coming at me in Full Assault mode. There were tears. I really only got it under control when I started being irritated that it was taking so long for the movers to show up.
I worked for an hour and twenty minutes, and they never came.
I called them and asked for my contact guy. He wasn't there. The woman who answered the phone said, "Can I help you?"
I told her my name and said that I was out in A_____ waiting for them. I said, "I'm here. Where are you?"
She said, "I don't have you on my books for today. The last thing I knew about you was that you were going to get the place plowed out and get back to us."
I said, "I did get back to him the very next day and we confirmed for the sixth!"
She said, "Well, he never conveyed that message to me. All my crews are out today, and I don't have anything open until next Wednesday."
I was so angry that I could barely speak. I said, "I even took time off from work for this!"
"I'm sorry, sir. . ."
I hung up the phone and burst into another bout of tears. I've worked so hard trying to make this happen, and now another week will go by. I'm hearing that two snowstorms are being predicted between now and then, including one for Tuesday night into Wednesday morning. I thought I had cleared out that yard for the last time. This means more work ahead of me, and with my luck it will get postponed again due to the snow.
If I didn't have the cats who need me to care for them, I would absolutely be jumping off of a building right now.