April 5, 2008
If you’re thinking about moving, you’re not alone. About 40 million people move every year. So why do psychologists say moving is a life changing trauma right up there with divorce, receiving a letter from the IRS and the death of a spouse? I’ll tell you why. You’re taking everything you own, everything you hold near and dear, and placing it in the hands of three guys who thought high school was a waste of time.
Not to worry. Just know the movers from the shakers. Here are ten deal breakers.
1. The foreman introduces himself as “William, Don’t Call Me Bill.” Says HE’LL pack the china closet because it requires the utmost in care. Next thing you hear is shattering glass. “Oh Nooooooo. Mr. Bill, err, Mr. William…”
2. The movers split your dining room table in half and offer a quick fix: “duct tape and a Martha Stewart tablecloth.”
3. When you jump onto the moving truck to retrieve your blood pressure meds (the shoebox marked “Rx: DON’T MOVE MY MEDS”) you find 300-pound “Tiny” stretched out and catching some z’s on your brand new beach chair. (He blames the splintering wood on your termites.)
4. You painstakingly separated all your aerosol cans and flammables. “Somebody read their mover’s manual,” Tiny says when he sees you’ve packed your poison. He gives you a big wink and proceeds to pack the hazmats straight into your moving van. Tells you he’ll see you on the other side.
5. After eight hours of loading, the movers are ready to take off for DC. Until their truck doesn’t start. You have to provide the jumper cables, and sit in your little compact as the moving van lurches into gear and comes straight at you.
6. The guys won’t unload until you pay in full. You reluctantly hand over the cashier’s check and sign a shaky document agreeing to any overages. “Don’t call me Bill” drags his estimate clipboard across the hood of your car and leaves a six-inch scratch.
7. You paid for a pack and unpack – such a deal! Their idea of unpacking is dumping the contents of 700 cartons on top of your bed.
8. Your $2.99 eyeglasses from Wal*Mart are wrapped in 35 pounds of packing paper, and your $5 sombrero from South of the Border is given its own special carton. The Monolo Blaniks you remortgaged the house for travel coach. They’re scrunched in the bottom of a stroller with every shoe in the house, including mudroom boots.
9. Your jewelry box lost a little of its shine. You find your “ Reel Emraled” bracelet on EBay.
10. For Tiny’s closing act, the moving of your antique armoire, a light rain starts to fall. He refuses to carry your hand-painted treasure the rest of the walkway unless you sign a no-fault waiver that it’s at your own risk. Says he’s never had much luck with French stuff. Can’t promise he won’t fall.
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