So if you are just joining, I’m talking about our ridiculous decision to make ANOTHER move across the country. After 370 days in Florida, where we endured life on the surface of the sun, braved the swarm of rabid, flying roaches, and successfully survived the worst freaking drivers in the developed world, me and family were like:
This was all well and good until I really started thinking about the move itself. The prospect of moving my life back across the continent was giving me heart palpitations, particularly since I’d done this once with less than stellar results. Actually, it gave me nightmares—seriously. Once we settled on actually moving back to Seattle, I started having dreams where I would drive the truck off the side of a mountain and die in a fiery death. It was bad enough, I started having palm sweats and shaking hands whenever I thought about driving.
This is an actual post I made back when we were planning the move:
Now I don’t generally make decisions out of fear because I don’t routinely put myself in situations where this is a thing. The scariest thing I do is the corn maze in October when we go to pick out pumpkins. Why is it scary? It’s a corn maze and I’m a black dude—I’m like 67 times more likely to get murdered in October when walking through a corn maze. Don’t let it be after dark (it never is) because my death potential goes up to like 127%–I am guaranteed to die.
We moved to Seattle in April 2007 and, by then, I had genuinely forgotten about the whole “volcanoes are real AND they’re here” thing. The last time Mount St. Helens erupted, I was 7 and the only time I’d ever heard about human beings dying from a volcanic eruption was Pompeii. It wasn’t a concern. I was, however, wholly unaware of the whole earthquakes thing. THAT is not on the brochure.
Like 2 days after I’d started my new job, I was in the office in downtown Seattle overlooking the Sound and some chunky dude in a polo shirt and a construction helmet said something about getting under your desk for the earthquake drill. Of course I didn’t pay attention to him because he was some dude in a construction helmet. It wasn’t until went to the office next door to say something to Karen—ain’t that an office-y name? Karen…sound like she think she shift lead or manager or something, huh?—that I noticed everyone was gone. And I mean Left Behind gone. Vanished.
It wasn’t until I heard that harsh whisper-yell from a cubicle, talking about “Chris! Get down!”
Me: “The fuck are you doing under your desk?”
Cubicle: “Earthquake drill! Get under your desk! Don’t you see the flashing li—“
Me: “Earthquake drill? EARTHQUAKE drill? Y’all get earthquakes here? And we’re on the 33rd floor?”
It didn’t go well. My fears about earthquakes were quickly dashed by the news that Mount Rainier, WHEN it decides to blow, will kill us all.
Anyway, if fear was a motivating factor, I would have left Seattle then, that day. But I don’t generally let fear rule my decision making.
Until we got to the move.
After the series of nightmares and day-mares and general unease, I decided that I wasn’t gonna drive shit anywhere: I was gonna hire movers. Yeah, movers.
The Wife says I gotta get 3 estimates before she will be comfortable with me hiring anybody to move our artificial Christmas tree, 4 TVs, and Marvel movie collection so I start filling out online forms. 862 moving companies respond IMMEDIATELY. I take the first call, your girls sounds decent, her price is ok and I get an estimate. The next 3 people I talk to say, “I don’t know if I can help you—the end of July is the toughest time. Can you move it?” Can I move it? What kind of shit is that? Have you ever been flexible with your moving plans? And we’re moving ACROSS THE COUNTRY. Like I’m gonna say, “Oh yeah, you know, Seattle will be there. Fuck it. What works for you?”
So I’m back to the original estimate I got and because I’m having nightmares and I have the money, I’m like “Cool! Take my money.” $1700 deposit sent. I rest easy that night.
My wife though is not like “Cool.” She’s just got enrolled in Camp WTF and she’s an enthusiastic camper. I didn’t get the 3 estimates, didn’t let her use her subscription to Consumer Reports, didn’t really discuss the whole thing. But she’s serious when it comes to her Marvel movies and her money so she does her investigative journalism and in 24 hours, she’s unearthed every single negative review in the last 3 years, and has done an interview with one of the previous customers. Seriously.
Now I gotta cancel the movers because the Wife is NOT gonna let some clowns she’s never met pack up her Marvel movies and Christmas tree AND overcharge her and hold her stuff hostage on the other end. Nope. That’s a negative, Ghost Rider.
I have 7 business days to cancel my move to get my refund back. I write the required email at 11:56pm with my cancellation. The next day, muthafuckin Ray from the moving company calls us up, screaming at us about “we ain’t gonna get our money back” and “you cancelled too late” and, since I sent my email at 11:56pm, he actually Googles what constitutes a business day WHILE WE’RE ON THE PHONE. My man is crazy professional.
I actually can’t pull a Blue Sky Journeys on this one cuz we’re still working on it. But this turn of events means I HAVE to drive the truck. Dammit. I gotta get my Xanax prescription refilled.
Next up, On the Road or Moving Help Wanted, Teeth Optional