Don't Fuck With Mr. Zero
My paperwork this morning informed me that our customer's name was Mary, and that we'd be helping her move her 94-year-old father from a second-story apartment into an assisted living community. I drove to Lexington with my Lithuanian comrade Darius, arriving five minutes early at the apartment complex. A woman in her fifties was waiting for us at the door, a froggish scowl permanently worn into her face. I approached, remarked that it was a beautiful day, introduced myself, and said, "You must be Mary." Her scowl became a rictus of disapproval, and the first words out of her mouth were "Call me DOCTOR (last name)." Then, on the way up to the apartment, she remarked that she could easily move everything required by herself "In an hour, if I was a little stronger." Christ lady, if you can carry a fully loaded triple dresser and all your dad's other furniture into place by yourself in a friggin' hour, why call us? Call that mail-order place in Tijuana and get yourself some 'roids!
I am getting really irritated with being condescended to about my job. I think many people feel a degree of powerlessness about hiring movers: they feel it's an admission of weakness, involving sweaty strangers handling everything they own. I can understand the origins of those feelings, but it is really starting to bother me when they manifest as hostility or contempt towards me and those I work with. The reflexive assumption seems to be that I am a weak-minded ox, fit only for carrying heavy objects, and then only under intense supervision by the REAL moving expert, that being the customer. I think this is more of a defensive reaction by many people than actual dislike for the profession, but that softens the blow only a little. It makes some people feel better if they tell themselves (and me) that they don't really NEED to hire movers, it's just that they're busy. They deal with their feelings of inadequacy and powerlessness by demeaning the ones capable of doing the job for them: we're dumb, we're unethical, we're lazy, we're etc. Similar feelings must crop up when they visit the doctor, or when their hard drive starts smoking, but because we're blue-collar it's more socially acceptable to treat us like leprous child molestors.
It's infuriating to be second-guessed by these people on the job, but bittersweet because every time they instruct me on how I should do my job, it lengthens the time required for the move, puts their belongings at greater risk, and costs them more. They pay lavishly for temporarily flattering the notion that they know more about the process than I. Computer programmers become instant experts because they helped a college buddy put an armchair in a van once. Car dealers suddenly accquire an encyclopedic knowledge of how pianos are hauled up spiral stairs. And Interior Decorators... don't get me started.
It's worst with the men. Moving is a major Penis Issue with many men. Requiring movers is, for many males of the species, tantamount to donning a pink tutu and false eyelashes to lip-synch a Donna Summers song. Another man carrying your stuff for you, to these guys, is like another dog peeing all over your fire hydrant. Primarily it's the little skinny guys or short fat guys, who own suspiciously-shaped muscle cars, lose their hair early, and play omniscient all-powerful NPC's at larps (ZING!!). They talk down to women almost universally, and often read the Boston Herald, although some of them are cleverly disguised as Sensitive New-Age Guys.
My favorite story on this topic is from Gentle Giant... several years ago, Steve H. was working with a three-man crew with an exceptionally nasty and unpleasant woman, who openly belittled them and second-guessed them every step of the way. At one point in the move, the woman snapped at Steve H. (who, by the way, is a brilliant and truly kind, patient individual) "If you hadn't neglected your education, you wouldn't have to be a mover now!"
Steve looked up at her from the dresser he was carrying, and set it down. He pointed to himself and said, "Princeton, B.A." He pointed at Jim, the next senior co-worker, and said, "Harvard, B.A." He then pointed at Paul, the third man on the crew, and said "Yale, M.A." Yes, they really did graduate (respectively) from Princeton, Harvard, and Yale. The customer quickly shut the fuck up.
1,000 bonus points if you can identify the movie this post's subject line is derived from.
I am getting really irritated with being condescended to about my job. I think many people feel a degree of powerlessness about hiring movers: they feel it's an admission of weakness, involving sweaty strangers handling everything they own. I can understand the origins of those feelings, but it is really starting to bother me when they manifest as hostility or contempt towards me and those I work with. The reflexive assumption seems to be that I am a weak-minded ox, fit only for carrying heavy objects, and then only under intense supervision by the REAL moving expert, that being the customer. I think this is more of a defensive reaction by many people than actual dislike for the profession, but that softens the blow only a little. It makes some people feel better if they tell themselves (and me) that they don't really NEED to hire movers, it's just that they're busy. They deal with their feelings of inadequacy and powerlessness by demeaning the ones capable of doing the job for them: we're dumb, we're unethical, we're lazy, we're etc. Similar feelings must crop up when they visit the doctor, or when their hard drive starts smoking, but because we're blue-collar it's more socially acceptable to treat us like leprous child molestors.
It's infuriating to be second-guessed by these people on the job, but bittersweet because every time they instruct me on how I should do my job, it lengthens the time required for the move, puts their belongings at greater risk, and costs them more. They pay lavishly for temporarily flattering the notion that they know more about the process than I. Computer programmers become instant experts because they helped a college buddy put an armchair in a van once. Car dealers suddenly accquire an encyclopedic knowledge of how pianos are hauled up spiral stairs. And Interior Decorators... don't get me started.
It's worst with the men. Moving is a major Penis Issue with many men. Requiring movers is, for many males of the species, tantamount to donning a pink tutu and false eyelashes to lip-synch a Donna Summers song. Another man carrying your stuff for you, to these guys, is like another dog peeing all over your fire hydrant. Primarily it's the little skinny guys or short fat guys, who own suspiciously-shaped muscle cars, lose their hair early, and play omniscient all-powerful NPC's at larps (ZING!!). They talk down to women almost universally, and often read the Boston Herald, although some of them are cleverly disguised as Sensitive New-Age Guys.
My favorite story on this topic is from Gentle Giant... several years ago, Steve H. was working with a three-man crew with an exceptionally nasty and unpleasant woman, who openly belittled them and second-guessed them every step of the way. At one point in the move, the woman snapped at Steve H. (who, by the way, is a brilliant and truly kind, patient individual) "If you hadn't neglected your education, you wouldn't have to be a mover now!"
Steve looked up at her from the dresser he was carrying, and set it down. He pointed to himself and said, "Princeton, B.A." He pointed at Jim, the next senior co-worker, and said, "Harvard, B.A." He then pointed at Paul, the third man on the crew, and said "Yale, M.A." Yes, they really did graduate (respectively) from Princeton, Harvard, and Yale. The customer quickly shut the fuck up.
1,000 bonus points if you can identify the movie this post's subject line is derived from.