Actually, as opposed to what the title tells you, I hate moving. Ironically, not many I know have moved so many times as I have in such a short amount of time. I'm sure people like that exist, I just don't know any.
Since Fall 2007, I've moved:
1. Out of Massachusetts
2. Into Quebec
3. Out of Quebec
3 1/2. Into the apartment
4. Out of apartment
5. Into our new house
And with that cliffhanger of a last post, I figured I should at least outline the mess of a move we had last Thursday.
So, I've finished exams, I've left the school until next year, and I've begun to acclimate to a nice, long winter break. And then I remembered that I have to move tomorrow. First day of break, and I'm getting up early and moving boxes at the crack of 9.
But, I dragged myself out of bed, and there I was at some strange looking "facility" where apparently all of our stuff has been held for 4 months. I think it's a place to house temporary missionaries, but to me it looked more like a spot that some big mob dealing would take place; the boss sitting sipping strawberry daiquiris on his veranda, while a helicopter lands and some scrawny, sleazy guy holds his hat and tie from flying away while stepping out. Anyways, as it turns out our boxes and furniture wasn't all sold away to Skinny Vinny and his gang, it was right there where we left it!
45 minutes after it was supposed to arrive, the moving truck pulled up. It is Africa, so I wasn't expecting much (use the previously-mentioned Formula), but this was pretty bad. It was about a third of the size of the shipping container the stuff got over in, and the floor consisted of wooden sheets over some metal bars. You could see the ground in some places. How I yearned for a nice U-Haul truck. I'll bet you've never yearned for a U-Haul truck.
2 hours later, me, Dad, and a bunch of other people I don't know but who spoke English had said crappy truck jam-packed with 98% of our assorted household items. We then drove to our new house, the occupants of which were to have left by 6:00 a.m. Guess what? They were still there. Frantically running around the house, packing up remaining odds and ends, this was the result of the first misunderstanding of the day. The D's, as I'll call them, since they're name is french and therefore impossible to spell, have some interesting moving habits, if I do say so myself. The vegetable garden in the backyard, which just last week had been flourishing with various plants, edible and otherwise, was completely yanked out and now was a plot of dirt. They took the plants with them. The batteries in the AC remotes were taken. Everything was dirty. The room they promised mom to paint was left unpainted. They sold the TV we bought from them to someone else? I could go on, but I think you get the picture.
However, when they left they left behind some really random crap. They took the time to take all the batteries out of the remotes (apparently half-drained AAA's are a rare form of currency in Senegal), yet they left piles of assorted stuff in pretty much every room. Half of a toy cell phone. A deflated Madagascar mini basketball (as in the movie, not the country.) The top of a broken spray can. Pieces of soccer ball. A watch case? I could go on, but I think you get the picture.
Anyways, I really did like my first look at the house. It had just as much space as the apartment we subletted, but it was more in separate rooms and less in giant, open common areas. If there's such a thing as anti-clostrophobia, and I'm fairly certain there is, I had it in that apartment. It was too open. This place has no such problems. But at this point it was time to take the truck back to get the remaining dregs of furniture left at the mafia headquarters. This is where the "shouting arguement" part of the formula comes in. The moving guy and Dad were talking about going back. I was lying in the hammock and started to hear shouting in French. That marks the second time I've heard Dad argue in French, and it's still just as awesome as when he put down that idiotic clerk in the grocery store and Quebec. Anyways, I think he won, because we didn't have to pay the guy (who was trying to rip us off) any more money.
And finally, we ate a delicious lunch of sammies, canned ravioli, soda and cookies. 3 1/2 days of unpacking later, and here I am, sitting at the laptop on our new patio-made-living-room furniture, chronicling it out. You're welcome. Now you don't even need to use math.
Oh, and I planned on doing this earlier, but I kept forgetting. Too bad. I might be adding to this list when I think of a good one.
DA students are like Moms because:
11. They think I should get a haircut
12. They think the music I'm listening to should be turned down
-Will
P.S. Happy 50th post, everyone!
"There are many ways to kill a zombie, but the most satisfying way is to stab it in the eye with a wooden stick."
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