Previous Installment: Moving to Vegas: Prologue

The day started out fine. Everything was going well until the mover showed up.

He seemed chipper enough until he toured the house and proclaimed that I had lied to him about what had to be moved. Now if you want to get my attention in a hurry, call me a liar. I am many things, but a liar is not one of them. However, since I needed his services desperately, I decided to let that one slide.

I told him that I was very specific about what had to be moved and that I requested that he come out ahead of time and give me a quote, but he had refused. In his words, “I’m a professional”. He had reminded me on the phone that he could determine the amount of work that it would be from our previous brief phone conversation. So be it.

This was Tuesday. Mr. Professional Mover had actually been scheduled to show up on Monday, but showed up a day early – at 8:30 Sunday morning. We sent him away and told him to come back Monday since we weren’t fully packed yet. This was another chance that he didn’t take advantage of to take a look at the job. Of course on Sunday’s visit, we found out that he absolutely couldn’t show up on Monday, so Tuesday was agreed upon. At least he was on time on Tuesday.

The problem on Tuesday was that Mr. Professional Mover was just too upset and it “would kill” him to move all our stuff (despite the fact that another two-man crew had not only packed our stuff, but unloaded it the same day when we moved in). He told me wanted to leave and not do the job since he only had himself and an assistant and absolutely needed three men to do the job.

After going back and forth for a few minutes Sheri came to the rescue and told him that he came highly recommended from friends and that professionals don’t leave jobs. After this plea, Mr. Professional Mover decides he can load our stuff in the truck, but still grumbled that it would take more than six hours.

Boohoo, I say. He’s getting paid hourly!

Despite convincing him to stay, it goes down hill from there.

About half-way through the job, Sheri and I were alone in the bedroom for a minute and she lets me know that Mr. Professional Mover took her aside and told her that she was the only reason that he stayed to do the job, that she has a pretty face (I cannot argue that) and that if things didn’t work out between her and me, that she should call him.

And he was serious.

I’m not a jealous man. I’m secure in with the relationship my wife and I have. Bottom line: Mr. Professional Mover’s advances were no threat to my marriage. First of all, I’m far prettier then he is, and secondly, I wasn’t as sweaty. At least that day.

Despite my lack of jealousy, he sure did step over a line. I advised Sheri to take it as a compliment and not to go near him alone, just in case. Had I not been completely exhausted, I would have done something, likely involving asses and boots, but I was tired.

Worse, when the movers left at noon (he didn’t make it the six hours), there was still a HUGE amount of work to do. I let the whole hitting on my wife thing slide. Mr. Professional Mover is lucky I never ran into him in Vegas. I might have a few words with him. Or something.

Did I mention that although Mr. Professional Mover only had a crew of two, he really needed three? I did? Well he got three! I was number three. Well, not quite three, but at least number two-and-a-half. I wasn’t in the best shape at the time and my back has been injured a few times. (I found out in 2008 I broke it at some point unbeknownst to me, but that’s another story.)

Needless to say, lots of lifting, climbing up the truck ramp, and working in the heat didn’t do me much good.

Mr. Professional Mover, his assistant, and I had put the boxes and heavy stuff on the truck. There were a few minor items left, but I didn’t think there was anything too big left to do.

Unfortunately, about one-third of the kitchen and a fair amount of other stuff still needed packing after the movers left. I was happy to see his lecherous ass go, but sad because I knew all the physical work would be placed upon my already tired back. But this was moving day, and I was going to move no matter what. I packed up what needed to be packed and loaded it as best I could in the truck.

We have a cat named Pepper. Pepper was also moving. We planned it so that the office downstairs at our condo would be empty, get no traffic, and would be Pepper’s temporary holding area while we packed and got the truck loaded. Into the office Pepper went.

Pepper is generally a well-behaved cat, although given to moments of deviousness. We had to withhold food after breakfast in order to prevent problems on the flight. Pepper is Daddy’s girl in the sense that she likes her food. To her credit, she behaved well, especially considering she was hungry.

Had Sheri not been scheduled to fly with Pepper that night, I would have delayed the move by a day. We needed to leave no later than 6:00pm, and time was passing quickly. I was now beyond exhausted and my inner thighs were so chafed they didn’t want to meet again for at least a few days.

When I get really tired, I also tend to get a bit grumpy. It was a very long, tough day for everyone. As flight time got closer and closer, it looked like we were about to run out of time.

Next installment: Moving to Vegas: Getting out of Orlando

 

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