This is the part where I bitch about something for a while and then find the humor in it.
Two days ago I moved with my girlfriend into the apartment we will now be sharing with my brother. That's the short version. If you don't want the long version, skip ahead to the last paragraph.
First, I woke up to my sweetheart (and pillar of strength) moderately freaking out because the phone had been disconnected 12 hours early (and with it, the internet). The people coming to help us now had no way to ring the doorbell, since our intercom came through the phone. One of these people was the gentleman who would be driving the 24-ft truck. Fortunately, when she went down to the building's office to see if she could use their computer and/or telephone, she found the aforementioned gentleman wandering about the lobby somehow.
Apparently, renting the truck was also temporally set back because the staff at Budget take a long time in the bathroom. Not judging; this is just what I've heard.
So this set us back an hour.
During this time, I had been running around my neighborhood looking for a store that (a) was open, and (b) had a supply of packing tape. We had gone through two rolls of the stuff & still had some boxes to seal. This mission took an hour. I then sealed the boxes and spent about 20 minutes wondering why the truck had not yet arrived.
From there I went to the superintendent (really nice guy) to explain why we weren't filling up the elevator we'd booked 4 weeks previously for 10AM (it was 10:20 AM when I offered the explanation). He had no problems with this, and set it up for me. So I started moving whatever I could carry myself into the loading bay at the back of the building.
Fast-forward to 11:15 AM. We've got 45 minutes until our time for the elevator expires, and 75 minutes until our time with the elevator at the new building expires. The truck has arrived, and so have the other three people helping us.
Of course we went over the allotted time. Of course we did. By an hour and a half, give or take a bit. The people moving in behind us were very understanding. We worked out a system by which we would bring our gear down from the 15th floor, empty it, load up their stuff, haul it to the 29th floor, go back to the 15th, load up, and repeat.
Truck loaded, we reckon the glitches are all out of the way and we can just get to the new place and unload without incident. We get there just as our reserved time for the elevator expires.
All parties involved realized what the situation was, the fact that it "is what it is," and that we had to just proceed and get the shit done.
Now this new building has a really interesting loading bay. For starters, it's in FRONT of the building, not behind. And it comes off a narrow, crescent-shaped driveway - which is not conducive to driving really big trucks. Good news is we got the truck in, and it only took about 20 minutes. Bad news is, we took the side off an SUV across the street on the way.
This is when my brother had his first panic attack of the day.
I think it was 4:30PM when I blacked out. I have vague recollections of people giving me water and muffins. Images of stone walls, police cars (and what I'm told was a wonderful officer with a knack for diffusing volatile situations), a screaming crazy lady with porn-star sunglasses (who, I'm told, owns the truck we hit, and has not been educated in the art of getting more flies with honey). There were panicking friends and relatives, friends reworking their personal budgets for the next month, my girlfriend bursting into tears after realizing the cat has been in a carrier the whole time (and probably panicking too), and a building superintendent asking us when we would make an end of it.
When I came to, everybody was sitting in a living room (presumably my new one), drinking beer and laughing between complaints of pain and suffering. Pizza had been ordered and was en route. Another friend had arrived and was sliding furniture and boxes around to make the place more hospitable. The cat was even showing signs of settling in.
Then the fire alarm went off.
My brother began laughing almost hysterically, and I think I might have too. The Mrs found the cat and - despite very vocal protests from the latter - got her into the carrier again. We all headed for the fire exit and met our new neighbors on the way out.
Outside we were met with 4 fire trucks and several firefighters with axes and breathing apparatuses (apparati?). My hopes of a false alarm had been dashed. But this is where it gets funny.
Turns out the crazy lady with the porn-star glasses lives in our building. I know this because she was leading a small group of firefighters into the parking garage and talking a mile a minute as they went. I later found out she'd tripped the alarm by driving into a fire sprinkler with her newly rented car.
Everybody in my party thought this was hilarious.
Finally, as things were calming down and we were about to be allowed back into the building, a police cruiser rolled up (as often happens in case of fire). Somebody said "Wouldn't it be funny if it was the same cop?"
As I was chuckling at this possibility, guess who got out of the cruiser. He didn't even look at us.
The next paragraph is the last one. Those who have skipped ahead may resume reading.
I can't speak for everybody present, but at that moment I realized this had not been the worst day of my life. At that moment it had suddenly become the funniest one. We had only lost one dining room chair and a certain amount of pride (both easily restored if one is interested in getting them back). I think one of our drivers has to go to court at some point and pay a fine, but he seems to be at peace with it; we've offered to help him out in any way we can. Nobody had been seriously injured or killed, and I'm sure the neighbors will forget all about it in a week. I know I shall spare no effort in forgetting.
Two days ago I moved with my girlfriend into the apartment we will now be sharing with my brother. That's the short version. If you don't want the long version, skip ahead to the last paragraph.
First, I woke up to my sweetheart (and pillar of strength) moderately freaking out because the phone had been disconnected 12 hours early (and with it, the internet). The people coming to help us now had no way to ring the doorbell, since our intercom came through the phone. One of these people was the gentleman who would be driving the 24-ft truck. Fortunately, when she went down to the building's office to see if she could use their computer and/or telephone, she found the aforementioned gentleman wandering about the lobby somehow.
Apparently, renting the truck was also temporally set back because the staff at Budget take a long time in the bathroom. Not judging; this is just what I've heard.
So this set us back an hour.
During this time, I had been running around my neighborhood looking for a store that (a) was open, and (b) had a supply of packing tape. We had gone through two rolls of the stuff & still had some boxes to seal. This mission took an hour. I then sealed the boxes and spent about 20 minutes wondering why the truck had not yet arrived.
From there I went to the superintendent (really nice guy) to explain why we weren't filling up the elevator we'd booked 4 weeks previously for 10AM (it was 10:20 AM when I offered the explanation). He had no problems with this, and set it up for me. So I started moving whatever I could carry myself into the loading bay at the back of the building.
Fast-forward to 11:15 AM. We've got 45 minutes until our time for the elevator expires, and 75 minutes until our time with the elevator at the new building expires. The truck has arrived, and so have the other three people helping us.
Of course we went over the allotted time. Of course we did. By an hour and a half, give or take a bit. The people moving in behind us were very understanding. We worked out a system by which we would bring our gear down from the 15th floor, empty it, load up their stuff, haul it to the 29th floor, go back to the 15th, load up, and repeat.
Truck loaded, we reckon the glitches are all out of the way and we can just get to the new place and unload without incident. We get there just as our reserved time for the elevator expires.
All parties involved realized what the situation was, the fact that it "is what it is," and that we had to just proceed and get the shit done.
Now this new building has a really interesting loading bay. For starters, it's in FRONT of the building, not behind. And it comes off a narrow, crescent-shaped driveway - which is not conducive to driving really big trucks. Good news is we got the truck in, and it only took about 20 minutes. Bad news is, we took the side off an SUV across the street on the way.
This is when my brother had his first panic attack of the day.
I think it was 4:30PM when I blacked out. I have vague recollections of people giving me water and muffins. Images of stone walls, police cars (and what I'm told was a wonderful officer with a knack for diffusing volatile situations), a screaming crazy lady with porn-star sunglasses (who, I'm told, owns the truck we hit, and has not been educated in the art of getting more flies with honey). There were panicking friends and relatives, friends reworking their personal budgets for the next month, my girlfriend bursting into tears after realizing the cat has been in a carrier the whole time (and probably panicking too), and a building superintendent asking us when we would make an end of it.
When I came to, everybody was sitting in a living room (presumably my new one), drinking beer and laughing between complaints of pain and suffering. Pizza had been ordered and was en route. Another friend had arrived and was sliding furniture and boxes around to make the place more hospitable. The cat was even showing signs of settling in.
Then the fire alarm went off.
My brother began laughing almost hysterically, and I think I might have too. The Mrs found the cat and - despite very vocal protests from the latter - got her into the carrier again. We all headed for the fire exit and met our new neighbors on the way out.
Outside we were met with 4 fire trucks and several firefighters with axes and breathing apparatuses (apparati?). My hopes of a false alarm had been dashed. But this is where it gets funny.
Turns out the crazy lady with the porn-star glasses lives in our building. I know this because she was leading a small group of firefighters into the parking garage and talking a mile a minute as they went. I later found out she'd tripped the alarm by driving into a fire sprinkler with her newly rented car.
Everybody in my party thought this was hilarious.
Finally, as things were calming down and we were about to be allowed back into the building, a police cruiser rolled up (as often happens in case of fire). Somebody said "Wouldn't it be funny if it was the same cop?"
As I was chuckling at this possibility, guess who got out of the cruiser. He didn't even look at us.
The next paragraph is the last one. Those who have skipped ahead may resume reading.
I can't speak for everybody present, but at that moment I realized this had not been the worst day of my life. At that moment it had suddenly become the funniest one. We had only lost one dining room chair and a certain amount of pride (both easily restored if one is interested in getting them back). I think one of our drivers has to go to court at some point and pay a fine, but he seems to be at peace with it; we've offered to help him out in any way we can. Nobody had been seriously injured or killed, and I'm sure the neighbors will forget all about it in a week. I know I shall spare no effort in forgetting.
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