Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Fiasco - another word for debacle


It's been three monumental days since most of you have heard from me. I reached my destination safely on Saturday afternoon. They let me get into my apartment early (thank God I had stuffed my checkbook in my computer bag - not something I normally have) and I've been slowly adjusting to life 2,000 miles away from everyone I love. Darling Dan recently told me that my blog is mostly whining. I took a bit of offense at that, until he placated me with something inane like "but it doesn't sound so much like whining in your voice! It's just funny, 'cause I know how you are saying it." And I said "You Mock My Pain?!" And he said, "See, it is whining." Actually I made most of that up. I just like to quote that movie. Aw, Dan, see me poke fun from afar. At least you came out for the better in the fake conversation. I seem to remember you sputtering in the real one.... ;)

I sit amidst a mad clutter. I cannot believe how much stuff I have. Every time I open another box expecting, I don't know, clothes or something easy, it's more Corningware. Don't get me wrong, I love Corningware, but, goodness, you'd think I owned stock or something. And who the hell am I going to cook for now? It's so boring to cook for one. I so have to make some friends. If only to make effective use of my bakeware.

Well, you don't want to hear about my imagined conversations or the contents of my cupboards; you want to hear about what prompted the title of this post. I know, I know. Deep breath.

I decided that I liked my furniture and that if I was going to leave everything else (read: people) behind and have no friends that, by God, I would have my furniture. This required getting it to travel 2,000 miles, and we all know it wasn't going to fit in the Camry. Getting it out here was surprisingly easy. It was with the unloading that the entertainment began. Well, I can say that only from a distance of 24 hours. The moving truck arrived at slightly before 3; early. No problem. The moving men were supposed to get there at 3 to unload as there is no way I can get a loveseat (or some other stuff), well, anywhere if it doesn't carpet and shoving. A flight of cement stairs is totally out of the question. When the moving men didn't show at 3, the truck driver (nice man named Rick, I believe) and I decided that it wouldn't hurt to shift the load and carry some easy stuff up. I think that he was done for the day once he was through with my job. At 3:10, I'm thinking, hmm, they are quite late. At 3:20, I'm thinking, crap, how much of this unloading am I going to have to do, and poor trucker guy. At 3:30, you've got to be kidding me. At 3:40, we're done, and the guys haven't shown up. I try to tip Rick, but he won't have any of it. He goes off to see to his very pregnant wife. I call my credit card company to make sure I've not been charged for the moving men. I haven't. At this point the apartment office calls to tell me there are moving men looking for my apartment, and is it ok to give them the number? I tell them that since they are so late, I no longer need them. He says that they couldn't leave until the man in NY 's credit card went through. Hmm. They must mean the company I hired (only now do I realize that the contact number I have is a 917 area code - NYC, not where I am).

I call the company to make sure that I'm not going to be charged. They say that since I didn't cancel 6 hours before the appointment, I'm still liable for the full amount. I say there were no services rendered and I'm not paying. Had they been on time I would have been more than happy to pay you, however, they weren't, and I'm not. Well, anyway, we went like, four rounds until he finally concedes, rudely, that I won't have to pay and hangs up. I'm thinking cool, and proceed to unpack. Ten minutes later he calls back saying he's talked to his supervisor and I will have to pay the full amount. It is at this point that I really, well, let him have it. I craftily, slowly, get louder and speak, nay, shout over whatever lame explanations he's babbling on about. I say that there is no way I paying for services I didn't receive and that I will fight the charge until the day I die. Eventually, he relents and says that somehow he will convince his boss not to charge me. Whatever. I've not heard anything since, but you better believe that I'll be checking for the charge periodically, and I WILL contest it, if it shows up.

So. Fiasco title warranted? Topic for comment: Is Dan right?

Injury Watch: I only managed to slice open my thumb with the box cutter and pull a muscle in my neck from the unloading. Not bad on the Jac Scale. At least, no sprained ankle, surprising with the whole tempt-fate-by-jumping-off-semi-repeatedly thing. I suppose I have to wait until the last one heals entirely before I can sprain it again. Next month sometime, then. lol.

Tomorrow I'll have a slew of titles to talk about.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Have you ever realized that folly follows you wherever you goeth? I can't believe they wanted you to pay for services you never recieved!! Crazy people in this world.