Friday adventures: Transcription and Consolidation
Friday morning, I rented a 10-foot box truck from Doherty's, the only vehicle rental place I've ever actively liked. Then scrottie and I made the drive out to Stockton.
When we got there, right around 10 am, there was a sign on the door of the storage facility office saying the office was closed but would reopen at 11 am.
At 11 am, the office manager returned, and we went over to my unit. There was a moment where she seemed very surprised and confused and said, "This isn't the right unit."
"But it's my unit, I'm positive."
"Well, that isn't our lock."
So I tried my key, and it was my original lock, and everything was still inside, untouched. As best as the manager could figure, the person who observed the unit missing its lock must have written down the incorrect unit number when they called me. She said it wasn't uncommon for people to just leave their units unlocked at that facility, and also said they hadn't had any break-ins in the time since she'd started working there, or in the 8 years prior when another person had overseen the facility.
The irritation at a false alarm is trivial compared to the emotional upheaval of dealing with a break-in and theft.
Given that we were out there with a 10-foot truck, I decided to go ahead and close out the unit anyway. S and I then spent the rest of the day visiting his storage units and consolidating stuff.
After his unit was broken into in Albany, he got a separate unit in Richmond, which cost the same as the Albany unit but is larger, climate-controlled, and seems more secure (though it's impossible to know, really). My stuff easily fit in with his. It was good to revisit it all, too, for the sake of remembering that I like my stuff and want to keep it so as to have furnishings for whatever my next living arrangement is. None of it is fancy, but it's all made of real, solid wood, and it's enough to furnish a small apartment.
And now I never have to drive out to Stockton again.
When we got there, right around 10 am, there was a sign on the door of the storage facility office saying the office was closed but would reopen at 11 am.
At 11 am, the office manager returned, and we went over to my unit. There was a moment where she seemed very surprised and confused and said, "This isn't the right unit."
"But it's my unit, I'm positive."
"Well, that isn't our lock."
So I tried my key, and it was my original lock, and everything was still inside, untouched. As best as the manager could figure, the person who observed the unit missing its lock must have written down the incorrect unit number when they called me. She said it wasn't uncommon for people to just leave their units unlocked at that facility, and also said they hadn't had any break-ins in the time since she'd started working there, or in the 8 years prior when another person had overseen the facility.
The irritation at a false alarm is trivial compared to the emotional upheaval of dealing with a break-in and theft.
Given that we were out there with a 10-foot truck, I decided to go ahead and close out the unit anyway. S and I then spent the rest of the day visiting his storage units and consolidating stuff.
After his unit was broken into in Albany, he got a separate unit in Richmond, which cost the same as the Albany unit but is larger, climate-controlled, and seems more secure (though it's impossible to know, really). My stuff easily fit in with his. It was good to revisit it all, too, for the sake of remembering that I like my stuff and want to keep it so as to have furnishings for whatever my next living arrangement is. None of it is fancy, but it's all made of real, solid wood, and it's enough to furnish a small apartment.
And now I never have to drive out to Stockton again.