The New Digs
So I handed in my keys to the old place today. I’m officially moved. I still haven’t started receiving mail at the new place yet. I filed my change of address last week and, surprise surprise, it still actually takes 2 weeks to get a forwarded mail request done… even if you’re moving within the same zip code. The conversation went something like this.
Me: “I need to file a change of address.”
Guy: “Fill this form out. When do you want it to go into effect?”
Me: “Tomorrow.”
Guy: “OK, it will take about two weeks to process.”
Me: “But I’m moving down the street. I’m still in the same zip code.”
Guy: “Doesn’t matter.”
Me: “Of course it doesn’t.”
The move mostly went off without a hitch. The movers were late (for the second time running) but, in a twist that I didn’t see coming, they pushed for their tip before they actually moved anything (as opposed to the leg-breaking Russians who negotiated for their tip before they brought the stuff up from the truck… this seemed much more effective). Y’see, we used a company called Flat Rate Movers, who are supposed to send someone to your apartment to “estimate” the flat rate. They do this by pieces of furniture and apparently by how much stuff can fit into their industrial sized boxes. Ms. L spoke with them and, since we have very little furniture following the incident, they gave her a quote. The quote assumed 1 box (and, when I say box, it’s huge… something like 10 by 15) of stuff. Of course, when the movers got there, they discovered that our stuff will need 3 boxes. So, after telling us they’d have to call the main office and figure out how much extra to charge and they weren’t sure if they could move everything and a lot of quick talking in Spanish which I didn’t understand (but assume it was some talk about baseball, stupid gringos, pretending to sound panicked, and discussing how much they could suck out of us) they came back with “we don’t have to call the company, we’ll take care if it if you want.” Which was code for: “how much extra will you float us to take everything now so you don’t have to go through the hassle?” Turns out $50/guy (3 guys) was enough… which was fine because we were planning on giving them $30/guy anyway… I love Mexicans.
New twist on the moving, each building wanted a $300 cash deposit from me, which meant I had to walk to the bank, withdraw $600, and walk home… on the streets of New York… with half a grand in my front pocket. I can think of roughly 150 things I would rather do than walk around with that much cash on me. Fortunately, I likely looked enough like a paranoid crack addict looking for a fix that I was certainly left alone lest I draw the attention of the NYPD.
After getting here, my goal on the first day (obviously) was to get the Internet and cable set up. Points for Manhattan… when you have actually 2 competing cable companies, none of this nonsense about waiting a week for a cable hookup to come. The cable guy was here when I got here. Wired up the cable and the Internet before the movers even showed up.
A day after we got here, Ms. L left for Orlando. She called it “Senior Staff training.” I called it “conveniently getting out of Dodge to skip out on all the unpacking.” I, of course, reminded her about the time she decided to start a fight with me just long enough to bail on helping me paint my townhouse. I asked her if it would be a running theme: having “work trips” whenever any sort of labor is required. She said no… I say when it comes time to paint this place that she’ll conveniently have that trip to India to meet her Team India Accountants.
However, it actually didn’t work out to be that bad. I basically got to spend a couple days setting up the apartment how I want it. I also discovered that I have significantly more floor space in this apartment than in the old one. Now, granted, I still don’t have a couch or anything, but I have gaping wall space where I can finally get some sort of DVD shelving.
So, Thursday night I got home from work and spent the night unpacking clothes. I can officially say this: gentlemen, you have not suffered until you’ve unpacked the girl’s clothes and tried to put them away. To set the stage: our old apartment had two small closets in the bedroom and a coffin sized closet near the front door. To this we added two four-drawer dressers and one two-drawer dresser. On top of that, we have four plastic bins.
Now, the new place has a walk in closet in the bedroom and a coat closet that’s about six feet wide. I take up, officially, one dresser and about 3 feet of the walk in closet. Stupidly, I assumed both dressers and the walk-in closet would be enough. After filling the dresser with just shirts… Just shirts!! I moved on to the closet. After filling the closet, both dressers, and all four bins, I then started on the laundry. As I was pulling clothes out of the dryer I had one thought:
Where the f*ck did these clothes fit in the old apartment? I was trying to figure out what dimensional portal I missed in the old apartment where these clothes were stored. After I finally finished the laundry I walked in to the living room and noticed four more black garbage bags, I could do nothing but stare. I think I looked like Brett Favre after a concussion. There couldn’t possibly be more clothes in them… yet somehow, there were. Is there a magic girl power that I don’t know about? Like… do Bags of Holding and Portable Holes actually exist and I missed a meeting? If so, I’d love to have one. I had the same moment yesterday with books. On our bookshelf in the old apartment, it was interspersed with books and random decorations. As I was putting the books up on the shelf this time I still have a good 50 books sitting on the floor and the shelf is completely full. Where did all this stuff fit?
It’s starting to wind down now… finally. Tomorrow I have to set the DVD player and video games up. Then, I get to finally get a couch and a bed and hopefully finally put the incident totally behind us. There is an hour long massage waiting for me somewhere when this air mattress finally dies a burning, horrible death.
Of course, I’m relatively certain I’ll have to move everything somewhere else when she gets home, but for now… Miller time.