I Love Neighbors
Ok, so I need to revise this. Not that I've changed my mind about those particular neighbors. But I now have all new neighbors.

I finished moving into my new house over the weekend. Let me start by saying that waiting for the movers to show up is worse than waiting for the Cable Guy, and severely more painful than the anticipation of waiting for Santa. Especially when the movers never show up.

Several weeks ago I embarked on the Find Good Movers project. Normally when moving from apartment to apartment, I gather a few of my closest friends and somehow lure them into carrying my furniture around on a Uhaul. However, after the last move where they had to haul my stuff up three flights of stairs, I think I finally broke them. Maybe that's why I have such a high friend turnover rate. So this time I decided to give everyone a break (most importantly, me) and hire movers.

I called several moving companies for quotes. I'm all about saving money, but this is my stuff. My belongings. My cherished posessions. So I weighed the costs of going super cheap (ie: two dudes and a truck) and worrying if my stuff will survive, versus all the bells and whistles (ie: two gentlemen, a truck, and a padded forklift to eliminate the three floors problem) knowing my stuff will safely and cushily reach it's destination. I chose something in the middle. Affordable, yet a national company, bonded, insured, and whatnot. They even have a 1-800 number. I felt good. . .

. . . Until the day of the move when it took all afternoon to figure out that the movers were never going to come. They had given me a scheduled time of between 1-5pm. This is ridiculous, I thought. But that's how it works so I prepared for it. In my opinion, four hours is plenty of time for two guys and a truck to arrive at my apartment. I was hoping it would be earlier rather than later, because the job estimate was also another four hours to load and unload the truck. But I figured it would be later rather than earlier because that's how things go with me.

At 2:00, no movers. I called the local office for an ETA. They assured me it would be within an hour.

3:00, no movers. I called the local office. They assured me they were right around the corner, and should arrive any minute.

3:30, no movers. Maybe they meant they were right around one of the far corners of the earth. I called the local office. They told me the movers were stuck in traffic. Somehow during the ten minute drive from their last job and my apartment, they'd managed to find a huge accident tying them up for a couple of hours. Hmmmm. Doubtful.

4:00, no movers. I called the local office. And called. And called. And only got the answering machine. I began to wonder if this place actually existed. Maybe it was in one of the corners of the Bermuda Triangle.

I called the valued 1-800 number, and they patched me through to the local office, I guess using the secret Bat Phone for emergencies when the normal phone goes unanswered. Someone finally answered. I was now given a story about how the guys in the truck were apparently MIA. Radio dead, no cell phone, and in essence no one had a clue where they were or how to find out where they were. But I was promised they would try and get back to me right away.

5:00, no movers, and no word from the guy who promised to get right back to me. I called the local office. Still no word from the movers, or any developments in how to get ahold of them. I was even told they had gone out looking for the MIA drivers. Yeah right.

I was talking to the manager by this point. He begged me for fifteen more minutes. I told him I'd already given them four hours, and now it was after 5:00, the crying end of the four hour window of time I was promised to have movers. They were now officially late. I told him he had five minutes to assure me that movers would be here ASAP. I really wasn't excited about movers moving my furniture into the wee hours of the night.

I called back after ten minutes and still there was no sign of the MIA movers. I told the guy to cancel my order because we couldn't wait any longer to get my stuff moved. The option now was for my dad and I to try to locate a Uhaul truck at 6:00 on a Saturday night, as well as any friends of mine who would likely not have plans on a Saturday night and who would jump at the chance to haul my furniture around one last time, on short notice. Not likely.

As it turned out, my dad and I found the world's largest and only available Uhaul, then proceeded to carry every stick of my furniture down three flights of stairs ourselves. Washer, dryer, and all. Fortunately, nothing like this happened. But we saved that table til the end. I was a bit afraid of it after the last incident.

My mom covered the soft, small items, and going to get cold drinks duty. She helps in her own way.

At about 10:30 pm we pulled up to my new house. I was so tired and beat up, and really beat down about the thought of another few hours of unloading the truck. I was about to the point of having a freak out session in my driveway, for my new neighbors to see.

As it turned out, my next door neighbor was watering her yard. She noticed the Jumbo-Sized Uhaul arriving in the late night hours, and I told her what happened, apologizing for the late night loud noise of the truck and moving. This hadn't gone at all how I'd planned. We should have been finished long before now. She asked if we needed any help, and I said we could maybe use a hand if she felt up to it. I went to open up the house to prepare for my furniture arrival.

When I came back out of the house, I saw a lot more people than were there when I went inside a minute earlier. I didn't recognize any of them. These were my neighbors. From several houses on the street. My next door neighbor had gone and recruited helpers from the other neighboring houses, and I now had a throng of people eager to fill my house with my furniture at 10:30 at night. I was speechless.

I didn't know any of these people, but they jumped right in with a smile on their face, carrying my junk off the truck and into the house like it was a fun neighborhood parade of some sort. They put things in the right rooms and took great care not to break or damage anything. There were even kids carrying small stuff and neatly arranging my patio chairs. Within fifteen minutes the truck that had taken my dad and I over two hours to load was completely empty. I was speechless.

So now I have to say that I love my neighbors. They gave me the best neighborhood welcome I could imagine, and made the worst moving experience I have ever had into a really nice blessing.

I'm battered and bruised from lifting furniture. Of course, that doesn't count the beating I took from my ceiling fan while painting near the ceiling a few days ago. My head had a run in with the revolving fan blades, pretty much knocking me off the ladder. I can't tell if I have a bump, or if it's a dent from the impression of the blade to skull. Either way, it still hurts. But even with the battered body I now have, I'm in my house and feeling good about it.

And I'm very thankful for my new neighbors. And Uhaul.

C.T.