Monday, October 4

Finding Out

It’s just before 2:00 p.m. on Monday, August 2. We have arrived at Culver City Mazda to retrieve what has become the baby: the baby
since I’ve been told that no, I’m really not allowed to have a puppy yet. (I’ve acquiesced since I don’t want to be only one who walks it.) Anyway, we arrive in a cab from the airport, and I continue to marvel at the fact that there’s no return flight.

I sign a thousand sheets of paper in Finance, while The Boy calls our mover’s dispatch number to check on the truck’s whereabouts. When I return to ask him how it went, I find a grim-faced man who clearly doesn’t want to tell me that our stuff won’t arrive for fifteen days.

(We had woken that morning at 4:00 a.m. in New York, and hadn’t slept at all on the plane. Also, we had been waiting at the dealership for over an hour at this point because the car wasn’t ready. I wouldn’t want to share the news with me either.)

It was the kind of super-stressful, pull-your-hair-out, cry-until-your-face-looks-like-it-swallowed-two-golf-balls-and-put-them-behind-your-eyes day that makes you want to go home.

But home, at that point, was either New York, or the empty floor of an apartment in a place we were completely unfamiliar with.

So we went to what should be considered our home, because it was the only reasonable thing to do. And at first, we were happy because it was kind of beautiful. But then I remembered that we were sentenced by our moving company to two full weeks of sleep on the floor and life without computers, or anything comfortable. I was angry, and then I cried the type of crying mentioned above.

So we went to Kmart and spent too much money on things we didn’t necessarily need, like a TV. (However, I argue that we did need that TV, because it allowed us to watch Seinfeld on that first, most horrible night, and Seinfeld reruns have a way of calming any tempest.) We got to bed around 1:00 a.m., which, to our bodies, was 3:00 a.m., making this twenty-three hours the longest I’ve stayed up since college.

The next days weren’t the most fun in our lives, but they weren’t nearly as terrible as I made them out to be in the first hours of doom.

The point is that the whole thing leaves me really bitter about the moving industry. How can it be that the only way to get your stuff across the country is to pay somebody you don’t know and can’t really be fully confident about, to take all of your worldly possessions and drive them to your destination with a bunch of stops along the way, all to arrive to you at an undetermined time?

Proof of the insanity of the idea is the fact that one of my favorite things in the world, a mirror that my mom gave me, never showed up at the house, and the furniture that did show up is damaged. We’re still in the claims process, which will no doubt take about as long as our lease here to be resolved.

I really can’t believe that some brilliant entrepreneur hasn’t figured out a way to cut down the overhead costs of a moving company and make moves easy, instilling confidence in customers, and dominating the market.

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