I live in a new house. My wife and I moved into the place a couple of weeks ago. The move went pretty smooth, well almost. I have never really used movers to move all my stuff before, well not professional paid ones. At least the movers did not rip us off like you hear about in those moving horror stories, well not too badly.
As I have previously mentioned, my wife and I have amassed a large quantity of stuff. Well over 350 boxes plus furniture. The movers had given us an estimate but come the morning of the move they tried to jerk us around. I have heard about extortion tricks like holding your stuff hostage until you pay some newly discovered fees but these guys were not that good (bad?). Armed with the knowledge that it is unlikely we could get a new mover right away or reschedule our move at the last minute, they showed up and said the move will cost triple the estimated price and that they needed a big chunk of it up front in cash.
The moving company we contracted them through was called ‘Starving Students’. Struggling Ivy leaguers they were not. We made a quick call to their boss and magically the cash part was forgotten about and the price fell back down to where it should have been. Maybe had they actually gone to school they would have learned it is easier to rip somebody off after you start moving their crap into the truck. After some early stress everything ended up perfect and they actually did a great, fast job at a reasonable price; I just would not want these ‘Starving Students’ around me too much.
I did not always have so much stuff. For years I kept my possessions to a minimum. That does not mean I am a minimalist; someone that owns a lamp shaped like a bust of Elvis and several thousand books and records just cannot wear that moniker. Granted some of my stuff might be pretty damn heavy but until I got married all of my stuff could fit in one room. If I moved, the vast Dan-estate could be easily put into one of those teeny tiny trailers that hook onto the back of a car.
Back when I graduated college I could cram most everything I owned into my 1972 Skylark. It was a great car…or at least it was the decade or so prior to me driving it when it was remotely newish. I recall when the black leather-like roof started rotting my Dad thought he was doing me a favor by painting it white with some extra exterior roof paint that someone gave him. Unfortunately it started to peel quickly. That was OK because it just helped it match the rest of the car. The paint had originally been green but it was starting to rust. I ‘bondo’ed the rusted through holes with the gray color filling putty but never got enough money together to paint it so the green/gray body started to get orangey patches. By the time I left college the car was green, rust, gray, black and white colored.
During my last few months at Florida State my car’s engine had started to occasionally catch fire. Nothing real serious. Well as non-serious as flames shooting out of a car engine can be. It had starting problems and I often had to prop open the carburetor and shoot in some of that canned ‘Spray Start’. Every few times a flame or two would shoot out. Just in case it spread I kept a fire extinguisher under the seat.
I was a bit concerned during my final drive home after graduation that everything I owned might go up in a flaming inferno. I put all my most important things in the passenger seat next to me just so I could grab them if I needed to make a hasty retreat into some ditch. I took it as a bad omen when an hour into the drive I actually passed a car engulfed in flames on the side the road. The rest of the trip I envisioned my car exploding from the fiery heat with my record collection turning into thousands of flaming vinyl projectiles.
Four out of my five of my next moves other people moved my stuff for me while I was out of town working. Usually I would get a map sent to me with how to get to my new abode. I would pull up for the first time and get the grand tour climaxing with an introduction of my new room already filled up with all my worldly possessions. That is the way to move. I have only had one other move that was easier
When I briefly moved back up to New York from Florida, I arranged for some college aged friends from Ohio to make a weekend road trip to The City (read my last entry). I had told them if they carried my stuff up the three flights of stairs for me I would buy them dinner in China Town and drinks and a local pub. It was some of the best money I had ever spent on a move.
As I have previously mentioned, my wife and I have amassed a large quantity of stuff. Well over 350 boxes plus furniture. The movers had given us an estimate but come the morning of the move they tried to jerk us around. I have heard about extortion tricks like holding your stuff hostage until you pay some newly discovered fees but these guys were not that good (bad?). Armed with the knowledge that it is unlikely we could get a new mover right away or reschedule our move at the last minute, they showed up and said the move will cost triple the estimated price and that they needed a big chunk of it up front in cash.
The moving company we contracted them through was called ‘Starving Students’. Struggling Ivy leaguers they were not. We made a quick call to their boss and magically the cash part was forgotten about and the price fell back down to where it should have been. Maybe had they actually gone to school they would have learned it is easier to rip somebody off after you start moving their crap into the truck. After some early stress everything ended up perfect and they actually did a great, fast job at a reasonable price; I just would not want these ‘Starving Students’ around me too much.
I did not always have so much stuff. For years I kept my possessions to a minimum. That does not mean I am a minimalist; someone that owns a lamp shaped like a bust of Elvis and several thousand books and records just cannot wear that moniker. Granted some of my stuff might be pretty damn heavy but until I got married all of my stuff could fit in one room. If I moved, the vast Dan-estate could be easily put into one of those teeny tiny trailers that hook onto the back of a car.
Back when I graduated college I could cram most everything I owned into my 1972 Skylark. It was a great car…or at least it was the decade or so prior to me driving it when it was remotely newish. I recall when the black leather-like roof started rotting my Dad thought he was doing me a favor by painting it white with some extra exterior roof paint that someone gave him. Unfortunately it started to peel quickly. That was OK because it just helped it match the rest of the car. The paint had originally been green but it was starting to rust. I ‘bondo’ed the rusted through holes with the gray color filling putty but never got enough money together to paint it so the green/gray body started to get orangey patches. By the time I left college the car was green, rust, gray, black and white colored.
During my last few months at Florida State my car’s engine had started to occasionally catch fire. Nothing real serious. Well as non-serious as flames shooting out of a car engine can be. It had starting problems and I often had to prop open the carburetor and shoot in some of that canned ‘Spray Start’. Every few times a flame or two would shoot out. Just in case it spread I kept a fire extinguisher under the seat.
I was a bit concerned during my final drive home after graduation that everything I owned might go up in a flaming inferno. I put all my most important things in the passenger seat next to me just so I could grab them if I needed to make a hasty retreat into some ditch. I took it as a bad omen when an hour into the drive I actually passed a car engulfed in flames on the side the road. The rest of the trip I envisioned my car exploding from the fiery heat with my record collection turning into thousands of flaming vinyl projectiles.
Four out of my five of my next moves other people moved my stuff for me while I was out of town working. Usually I would get a map sent to me with how to get to my new abode. I would pull up for the first time and get the grand tour climaxing with an introduction of my new room already filled up with all my worldly possessions. That is the way to move. I have only had one other move that was easier
When I briefly moved back up to New York from Florida, I arranged for some college aged friends from Ohio to make a weekend road trip to The City (read my last entry). I had told them if they carried my stuff up the three flights of stairs for me I would buy them dinner in China Town and drinks and a local pub. It was some of the best money I had ever spent on a move.
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