Semi-Trailer Tetris

Our stuff got here. Since I should be joining Joe in South Korea in a couple of months, most of our household goods are going straight into storage.

The semi-trailer with our stuff on it was dropped off the day before the unloaders were scheduled to unload, but there was no room for the trailer in the parking lot of the storage facility. So, after much discussion between me, the driver, and the storage facility lady, a conversation that was difficult because the driver had some kind of speech impediment, he left the trailer in the parking lot of the Rite Aid next door.

When he mentioned that he had a key to the truck, I got all excited because I wanted to see if my plant was dead yet. He said he'd leave the trailer unlocked for me, and was even kind enough to remove the giant metal and wooden bulwark inside the trailer that I probably wouldn't have been able to get past.

So for the last part of the conversation - the important part, about getting a driver to the storage facility the next day to move the trailer into the storage facility's parking lot - I wasn't really paying attention. All my mental energy had been redirected from trying to understand the truck driver to thinking about my plant. I didn't really know what was going on, but I assumed everything would be fine, because that's usually how things work.

After the conversation in which I was blissfully unaware that nothing was actually worked out, the driver left. I said 'bye to the storage facility lady, then went next door and climbed into the trailer.

My plant wasn't dead, so that was cool. But somewhere between Georgia and Virginia, the truck driver had apparently braved the perils of an earthquake to get my stuff to me on time, and everything in the trailer had fallen over or shifted.

A stool leg had gone through the cloth on our box spring. The teeth of the gears on my bike had chewed up the side of our aluminum trash can (which had been round but now had sides.) The plastic tub I'd positioned to catch the worst leak in the trailer's roof was at least three feet away from where I'd wedged it. And that was just the stuff I could see from the front. I absolutely dreaded seeing what else was back there.

Next day, a lot earlier than I expected, my phone woke me up because the moving crew was calling to tell me they were with the trailer. I asked them where it was. They said it was in the Rite Aid parking lot. I said I'd be right over, then called the moving people's office to ask when the driver was going to be there to move the trailer. They had no idea what I was talking about.

So after about fifty billion phone calls, some made while I was driving from my house to the trailer and the moving crew (where I was supposed to have been an hour ago,) it was worked out that the moving company would have another company send a truck to move the trailer.

The moving crew and I sat around for an hour and forty-five minutes. In case you find yourself in a situation like this, know that a moving crew might charge you $80 an hour for wait time.

Finally, a truck got there and moved the trailer. The crew started untangling the mess that was everything we own while I stood around feeling useless. I'd asked them to put the furniture and big appliances in the very back of the storage unit, and to unload that stuff first, so they started with the couch. I saw them closely examining part of the first piece of the sectional. Another bit of information: "Hey, ma'am....was this like this before?" is the worst thing you can possibly hear when your moving truck is getting unloaded.

Those places where the leather is scuffed and scratched? No, my couch was not like that before. I had done such a bad job of loading the truck that I had turned our poor 8-month-old couch, one of Joe's and my three major "us" purchases, into a victim.

It was really awkward with those three guys there, but after the stress of that morning, seeing that damage kinda made me cry a little bit. I know, I've been doing a lot of that lately (see last post.) So I got that out of the way, oversaw the putting of the couch into the storage unit, and then I went and ordered pizza.

A few long, hot hours later, they had everything unloaded and put away. I stuffed a bunch of boxes in my car and signed some papers and that was it.

Well, except for when they brought my plant to the apartment. My plant (the peace lily Joe sent me when he was in Basic) is huge and heavy and I can't carry it by myself. I was going to return to the storage unit another day with a smaller pot and put it in there and move it that way. Instead, the guys offered to take it to the apartment for me. They loaded it onto their van and followed me home, then carried it up the three flights of stairs for me. AND THEN they even unloaded all the boxes in my car and carried all those up the stairs, too. I think it's 'cause I was nice to them and tried to help but actually just got in the way and also because I made them feel bad when I cried over a piece of furniture.

I made another trip to the storage unit after they left so I could get more boxes. I estimated that I'd need two or three more trips to get everything I wanted. I ended up staying in the storage unit for about an hour, reorganizing, climbing around on top of things like I was navigating a cave. At one point I was sitting on top of the refrigerator, moving boxes around, and the timers on the overhead lights ran out. It was dark and scary. To make matters worse, I had walled myself in. I had to climb out a different way than I'd come in. The broken plastic tubs and slippery weight-lifting equipment made for a treacherous journey.

It didn't take two or three trips to get everything; it only took one trip because my car is incredibly spacious and wonderful and I love it and everyone should own a Passat.

Back at the apartment, I finished unloading the last load of boxes around 6:00 PM. It was a good time for a shower, some dinner, and some League of Legends with my brother and his fiancee. But then I was like, "Yeah, that would be nice...but you know what you could do? You could wash the car. Go home and instead of crashing for the night, just turn right back around and take Passat to a car wash." The idea put this big grin on my face, so that's what I did.

The move was finally over. Washing the car as the sun set was the most relaxing, most satisfying part of the whole day. And then I got a Chik-Fil-A spicy chicken sandwich, some waffle fries, a Coke, and a banana pudding milkshake and devoured it all on my way home, driving my nice clean car, with moving-truck dirt all over me and sticky sweat between the vinyl seat and the skin on the backs of my legs and sunburn on my shoulders, and I was happy.