Moving

We have moved so often, but it never seems to be easy. We are moving for the 19th time, this time to Fort Monroe, Virginia.

First, my husband called the Great Lakes transportation office and requested a move date. They told him to fill out an online form and we’d hear from them. He filled it out and we got a computer generated response that said the earliest we could move was 12 business days from the date of the application. Bob called them to explain this was a short-notice assignment and the woman (with attitude) told him that he may have to report to work but wait for his furniture.

He asked to talk to her supervisor and she said to “Please hold, major.” He corrected her and said “I’m a major general.” I could hear her gulp from across the room. She put him on hold and no one came back on the line. I think they were running in a panic trying to find someone brave to take the call. A similar thing happened to me when I worked at Wisconsin State Fair as a receptionist as a teen and I ticked off a caller. He wanted my supervisor, so I covered the mouthpiece and told my co-worker to pretend she was my supervisor. She got on the phone and he told her that he had heard our conversation and to get the real supervisor. I was reprimanded.

Bob hung up after being on hold for about 5 minutes without a reply. When he called back, he was notified that the move date he requested had been approved. It’s funny how things can work out.

The movers come on Monday and we are hauling bags of things to Goodwill and sorting out things to stay in Wisconsin and what to pack in luggage for the trip to Virginia.

I am also having flashbacks of some of our unusual moves. Like the one from New York where the moving van was covered in graffiti and they finished packing that truck just after midnight. As it drove off towards the city, we thought we had seen our stuff for the last time. Then there was the mover in Kansas who crapped in our toilet and clogged it, but just closed the lid and let us find it hours after they had left. Oh, and the move from El Paso which I did myself where the mover arrived drunk and passed out in our basement atop a moving blanket. He was fired, so then I worried he’d come back seeking retribution.

I also remember our move from Germany where the movers were from the former East (the wall had come down just a few years earlier) and they stole all our NFL stuff and jeans. But at least I haven’t had an experience like my friend Jan, whose wedding dress was packed with her husband’s weights, which rusted all over it.

The movers come on Monday. The toilet plunger is at the ready.