Northern Migration Pt. 4- Who Ordered This Truckload of Dung?
OK, that’s it. I want to go home. Seriously. Everything on this trip has been a disaster & I’m pretty sure that if one more thing goes majorly wrong, I’m going to end up in a corner gibbering nonsense to a cockroach. As it stands, I’ve hit the point where I’ve lost my sense of humor about the whole thing. That’s not a good sign.
I was awoken Monday morning to the sweet melodious sound of… the maintenance guy knocking on my door. I’d mentioned in an e-mail to the rental office that my sink seemed to be leaking. I sent it out on Sunday afternoon after they were gone so they must have seen it in the morning & sent him out pretty quickly. Yay for attentive landlords who get things fixed. I called the truck people to see what new disaster has delayed the truck & low & behold! It was actually on its way to me. The driver called me & said he figured he’d be there shortly after noon. Yay! I could finally sleep in my own bed! Sit in a comfortable chair! Start organizing my stuff! I called my prof & another student who’d promised to help me unload the thing to let them know we were on for the afternoon.
My joy was short-lived. A little while later, I got a call from someone at the moving company. The bulkhead that was holding my stuff in place had fallen while in transit. This was Not Good. See, the truck they rented me was 24 ft. long. I only used 8 ft. of it-hence the bulkhead. That 8 feet was packed about a foot shy of the 9 ft. ceiling. When the bulkhead fell, that 8 ft. high pile of stuff fell right along with it. The woman from the office explained that I’d be able to file a claim for all the damage online once I figured out what all was broken. And I could call her back & she’d help me fill it out if I had any questions.
The truck arrived. There were a bunch of empty parking spaces right by the entrance so I had him drop the trailer there. I had him park it sideways because it would have blocked traffic in the parking lot if he’d pulled straight in. I’d asked about what to do with the truck the day I got here & the office lady said I could park it anywhere it would fit. After a quick run for some beverages for the guys coming over to help, I dug in to see how bad the damage was. The further I dug, the worse it looked. At first it just seemed like boxes & drawers had come open & there was stuff everywhere. Then it became apparent that some really heavy stuff had fallen on things that couldn’t take the weight. My pantry shelves were shot. The plastic bin that held my collection of handmade books was empty, upside & squashed. I couldn’t find most of the books that had been in it but the first few I found were destroyed. And so on. Then this little blonde chick pokes her head into the truck & says, “You know you’re not allowed to park your truck here” in that perfect snotty tone of voice used by spoiled 20-year olds throughout the country. “Um, no. They told me at the office I could.” She huffed off. I really wanted to tell her off. I composed the entire rant in my head. “Look, Princess Barbie. I just moved halfway across the country by myself to a town where I know exactly no one. This truck was supposed to be here 5 days ago. Now it’s here & roughly half of my worldly possessions have been completely destroyed. I’m sorry but your minor inconvenience in having to park two spots over is pretty low on my list of concerns right now.” And a little while later my phone rings. It’s one of the ladies from the office. Apparently Princess Barbie had flounced over to the office to complain. She asks how long the truck is going to be there. I explain that some of my friends from school are coming over & I hoped to unload the entire thing tonight & the truck would be gone tomorrow. She explains that the truck really isn’t supposed to be parked there. When I asked about what to do with the big truck that was coming, they thought I meant a 10ft long U-Haul, not one of the really big trucks. (I found this odd. Obviously, a little U-Haul truck would fit in a regular parking space so why would I be asking about where I should park it?) They usually had the big trucks park somewhere in particular that was not where I was parked at. She & I both apologized for the misunderstanding & I went on to explain about the bulkhead & how I was going through the truck trying to figure out what all was broken. She observed that I’d been having some serious bad luck on this trip.
After I got off the phone, I checked the time & realized that it was 3, which is when I’d told the prof I’d be starting. Since I still hadn’t heard from him, I called him again & got his voicemail. I went back to work. I discovered that I really should not attempt to move my futon mattress by myself as it is too heavy & bulky. Fortunately, a very nice guy from Africa saw me struggling & helped me. He offered to help more but by that point I just could not move any more. (This was also quite a contrast to the group of Pakistani guys who’d stood at a safe distance & watched me struggle to carry things with great amusement. Damn TMA.+ Instead of tittering like 12-year-old boys, how about you pick up a box & help me?). I’d planned to keep going until it got dark & I wouldn’t be able to see but my body decided otherwise.
Well, at least I get to sleep in my own bed finally. Unless those bent bolts mean that I can’t put it back together, in which case at least I’ll get to sleep on my own mattress on the floor. And at least I picked up some hard cider along with the beer. Holy Hel, do I need some.
*Yes, I know I skipped Pt. 3. That’s because I really needed to rant. Pt. 3 will be coming along next. Also, for those who will worry, today was much better.
+TMA= "Traditional Male Attitude" It's something I've noticed in men who come from cultures where women are officially of a much lesser status than men. It's extremely patronizing & condescending & it irritates the hell out of me.
I was awoken Monday morning to the sweet melodious sound of… the maintenance guy knocking on my door. I’d mentioned in an e-mail to the rental office that my sink seemed to be leaking. I sent it out on Sunday afternoon after they were gone so they must have seen it in the morning & sent him out pretty quickly. Yay for attentive landlords who get things fixed. I called the truck people to see what new disaster has delayed the truck & low & behold! It was actually on its way to me. The driver called me & said he figured he’d be there shortly after noon. Yay! I could finally sleep in my own bed! Sit in a comfortable chair! Start organizing my stuff! I called my prof & another student who’d promised to help me unload the thing to let them know we were on for the afternoon.
My joy was short-lived. A little while later, I got a call from someone at the moving company. The bulkhead that was holding my stuff in place had fallen while in transit. This was Not Good. See, the truck they rented me was 24 ft. long. I only used 8 ft. of it-hence the bulkhead. That 8 feet was packed about a foot shy of the 9 ft. ceiling. When the bulkhead fell, that 8 ft. high pile of stuff fell right along with it. The woman from the office explained that I’d be able to file a claim for all the damage online once I figured out what all was broken. And I could call her back & she’d help me fill it out if I had any questions.
The truck arrived. There were a bunch of empty parking spaces right by the entrance so I had him drop the trailer there. I had him park it sideways because it would have blocked traffic in the parking lot if he’d pulled straight in. I’d asked about what to do with the truck the day I got here & the office lady said I could park it anywhere it would fit. After a quick run for some beverages for the guys coming over to help, I dug in to see how bad the damage was. The further I dug, the worse it looked. At first it just seemed like boxes & drawers had come open & there was stuff everywhere. Then it became apparent that some really heavy stuff had fallen on things that couldn’t take the weight. My pantry shelves were shot. The plastic bin that held my collection of handmade books was empty, upside & squashed. I couldn’t find most of the books that had been in it but the first few I found were destroyed. And so on. Then this little blonde chick pokes her head into the truck & says, “You know you’re not allowed to park your truck here” in that perfect snotty tone of voice used by spoiled 20-year olds throughout the country. “Um, no. They told me at the office I could.” She huffed off. I really wanted to tell her off. I composed the entire rant in my head. “Look, Princess Barbie. I just moved halfway across the country by myself to a town where I know exactly no one. This truck was supposed to be here 5 days ago. Now it’s here & roughly half of my worldly possessions have been completely destroyed. I’m sorry but your minor inconvenience in having to park two spots over is pretty low on my list of concerns right now.” And a little while later my phone rings. It’s one of the ladies from the office. Apparently Princess Barbie had flounced over to the office to complain. She asks how long the truck is going to be there. I explain that some of my friends from school are coming over & I hoped to unload the entire thing tonight & the truck would be gone tomorrow. She explains that the truck really isn’t supposed to be parked there. When I asked about what to do with the big truck that was coming, they thought I meant a 10ft long U-Haul, not one of the really big trucks. (I found this odd. Obviously, a little U-Haul truck would fit in a regular parking space so why would I be asking about where I should park it?) They usually had the big trucks park somewhere in particular that was not where I was parked at. She & I both apologized for the misunderstanding & I went on to explain about the bulkhead & how I was going through the truck trying to figure out what all was broken. She observed that I’d been having some serious bad luck on this trip.
After I got off the phone, I checked the time & realized that it was 3, which is when I’d told the prof I’d be starting. Since I still hadn’t heard from him, I called him again & got his voicemail. I went back to work. I discovered that I really should not attempt to move my futon mattress by myself as it is too heavy & bulky. Fortunately, a very nice guy from Africa saw me struggling & helped me. He offered to help more but by that point I just could not move any more. (This was also quite a contrast to the group of Pakistani guys who’d stood at a safe distance & watched me struggle to carry things with great amusement. Damn TMA.+ Instead of tittering like 12-year-old boys, how about you pick up a box & help me?). I’d planned to keep going until it got dark & I wouldn’t be able to see but my body decided otherwise.
Well, at least I get to sleep in my own bed finally. Unless those bent bolts mean that I can’t put it back together, in which case at least I’ll get to sleep on my own mattress on the floor. And at least I picked up some hard cider along with the beer. Holy Hel, do I need some.
*Yes, I know I skipped Pt. 3. That’s because I really needed to rant. Pt. 3 will be coming along next. Also, for those who will worry, today was much better.
+TMA= "Traditional Male Attitude" It's something I've noticed in men who come from cultures where women are officially of a much lesser status than men. It's extremely patronizing & condescending & it irritates the hell out of me.