Monday the 23rd

I don’t know why or where this feeling came from, but there is something about waking up while it is still dark. I used to love it. It meant that we were packing up the car and going on a fun vacation. I used to love the feeling that I was the only one awake and active. Somewhere in my travels, waking up in the dark became to mean catching a flight for a job. A job I didn’t want to do (Harris days) Its not a fear of flying, maybe a fear of schedules. Maybe it was a sense of loneliness as I was always the one leaving, never staying.
So when I woke up alone on Kristy’s couch, even though I knew I was on my way home, I felt anything but comforted. I skulked around like a thief, careful of any noise I made, off I went into the solitude of darkness on my way the Burbank Airport. As I drove, I kept ticking off things I still needed to do, contact the property manager, return the cable, pick up my dry cleaning, should I get the carpet cleaned, I don’t want to leave my house, I haven’t even seen the new apartment, my new apartment will be nothing like my house…I psyched myself deep into the heart of sickness. Completely nervous and unsure of my decisions, I arrive at the Burbank airport almost completely unaware of what was really going on. In a fog of check lists and responsibilities I walked…zombified, aware only of what had to be done and that there was a time schedule to keep. Thank god for that really, I think if I didn’t have a rigid time schedule to keep, I would have been buried alive (kinda like Bill Pullmat in Serpent and the Rainbow “Don’t burry me…I’m not dead) .
Once on the plane, I took a deep breath. That was all it took, I started to cry; A brief repose where I allowed emotion to leak out…literally (ha)
I remember a lady behind me chatting and chatting and chatting with the man next to her.
She kept on about being “…so hungry”. I looked at the bowl of fruit I had bought in the airport for my own breakfast…breakfast that stress wouldn’t allow me to eat. I turned around and offered her my still sealed fruit bowl. She looked at me like I had leprosy.
I could hear the needle side from its groove on the record…que the crickets. She spoke to me like I was a simpleton. “aww aren’t you sweet, I’ll get something in Denver”
I turned away from them and back into my own seclusion, my emotional child hurt on a whole new level. The long silence behind me and her laugh told me they were making fun of my nice gesture. (sigh) ungrateful bitch. Starve.
I took this scene and made all kinds of other plays out of it. Is this what California people were like? Insensitive chatters who mock random acts of kindness? I was already missing Colorado.

I landed at DIA and waited for my Mother and Tom to pick me up.
While I waited for them, I got a call from the 818 area code (Burbank)
The caller was foreign with a very thick accent. With all the noise of the passenger pick up area there was no earthly way I could understand him who ever HE was.
I remembered leaving a message to see an apartment on an answering machine of a foreign sounding man named Alex. I assumed it was him.
“No thank you, I’ve already found an apartment” and I hung up without ever really understanding what he was saying to me.
5 minutes later this Alex person called again.
I told him that I can’t understand him and that I’ve already found an apartment. I hung up again.
My parents arrive, I get in the car and smell the smell I’ve always associated with Boulder and freedom, comfort, being my own person and having different thoughts other than the main stream ones thought in Omaha, my mother and home. (that’s a lot of memories for one smell)
It was the smell of the Crystal Dragon (anyone who has visited or at least received gifts from the Dragon know this smell) basically the smell of all different kinds of incense, but mainly Nag Champa.
I felt safe and warm and loved. I sat in the back seat and took a greedy whiff of safe and warm. Ahhhhh serenity.
I took the fruit out of my backpack and offered it to mom and Tom. They happily ate it with me. 

My phone rang again (a different 818 number) this time it was a woman I could understand.
‘Ma’am, we have been desperately trying to get a hold of you since yesterday. We were trying to get to your house on Sunday but you didn’t answer. The movers will be at your house in half an hour.”
Serenity lost.
I was in Denver on my way to Colorado Springs with my mother driving. No way no how was I going to make that deadline.
It was then that I remembered that the movers were supposed to call me on Friday to tell me when they would show up. All I knew was that I had planned on the week of the 23rd with the moving broker. He had told me the movers would call with a time on Friday. They never did. I felt a touch of rainman coming on….’OHHHHHH 30 minutes to movers…..OHHHHHHHHHHHHH’
I relied on the movers to tell me when they would should up and give me more than a half an hours notice.
Serenity shattered
‘OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH’
I called a friend and arranged to have her wait at the house to let the movers in. She was a little weirded out by it…but she agreed to at least let them in and get then started packing.
My parents were stunned at the unprofessional-ness of these movers. I couldn’t think about it and tried to focus on the task at hand.
’25 minutes to movers. OOHHHHH’
About that time Alex called again. This time I worked out that he was the mover. He told me
“I at you house at 2 hour” (I am SO not exaggerating the accent).
Now you know me…I love strange new accents, I love mimicking and mastering them. I pride myself in being able to understand anyone after a few words. I had to work hard with this one.
‘What?’ I said
‘I AT YOU HOUSE AT TWO HOUR’ not any clearer, just louder and angrier.
At the time, I felt bad for not being able to understand him, in hind site…this was foreshadowing at its most elementary. That ratfuckerjackasssonofabitch mover. But I digress.
The whole time frame was fine for me, so what ever really.
I sat back in moms car and madegood my preempted ‘warm and safe’ (little business jargon for those in the know)
When we got to my beautiful, loyal, loving home in the Springs, Mom, Tom and I started packing. Luckily I had some boxes in my basement from when I moved just over a year ago (17 months). I set my parents to task and I took a shower. I then spent the better part of 2 hours trying to direct my foreign movers to my house. I honestly could not understand him. I tried very hard to understand and I swear, he tried to make it difficult for me. As if he knew me and decided before even knowing me that I was not deserving of his pathetic consideration. (prickles wonder) The movers finally show up at around 4p. Alex and Neal. Alex the Russian who doesn’t speak English and Neal the American who doesn’t speak. They drove two big ass trucks into my little cul de sac. Thank god there was a place to park the second just across the street.
Alex was clearly in charge. He told Neal to get right to work packing.
Thus began my day of hell. I barely remember what transpired that day
A friend of mine came over to help with the packing (even though I paid an extra $500 to have the movers pack) (slimeygoodfornothingsociopaths)
I was running up and down the stairs trying to pack my house…running to them when ever they bellowed out my name. Watching them as these indifferent strangers pawed at my possessions. Supervised as they uncaringly dismantled all the years of careful spending and saving. I witnessed as what had come to define my actual adulthood was carelessly shoved into an innocuous brown box with smelly yellow tape wound willy nilly around it. This was just about all I could stand.
‘When will you be delivering the stuff to Burbank I heard my mom ask’
’10-21 Days ma’am’ came the reply
’10-21 days???!!!! How can that be an answer?” Said my mom
’10-21 days.’ Was their only response.
I tried not to think about it.
In order to make myself feel a little better, I tried to have casual light hearted conversations with the…shall we say ‘salt of the eath-ers’
I tried to explain all I had been through and how I just landed not 2 hours ago, how I had to be to work in Burbank on Thursday. I told them this not as a poor me story, but maybe for then to say…damn…that sucks, I feel for you. I didn’t expect anything in return except for maybe a bit of a ‘brothers in arms’ kind of feeling.
It did get them talking, but it was all about them and how hard their life is and how much they hate their jobs and how much they have to be on the road (yeah…complaining up the wrong tree on that one jack ass)
’Maybe you should get a different job if this one is so bad.’ I said
‘No, said Alex…his English suddenly understandable
‘This job pays well. I like doing this…boy is it hard, don’t you feel sorry for me….by the way, I have this girl friend in Utah, she is crazy. Here is a picture of my son. Isn’t he cute?’
Meanwhile….
Mom and my friend were looking for more wardrobe boxes. Neal, the underling mute, said that he didn’t have any more wardrobe boxes so just uses those over there.
Mom and friend were happily packing up my clothes when Alex screams for me from down stairs
“MEGHAN!!!”
I obienently go down stairs and ask what I could do for Alex.
“I need Deesh Pak boixes, I hat moure deesh pak boixes” (you’ll just have to assume a REALLY thick Russian accent here…
and oh yes, his accent is back on.
“Those women are upstairs using my dish pack boxes to pack clothes.”
“You have no other boxes?” I ask
“Yes we have more boxes but I need dish pack boxes so your dishes don’t break You tell them they must unpack that box and give it to me. I need dish pack boxes.”
I told him that we don’t know from dish pack boxes and how should anyone else know one box from the other. It was then that he took me out side where the box staging area was and pointed out the different types of boxes (how lovely…a learning opportunity)

When I told my mother that she needed to unpack that box and give it to Alex, she got twice as upset as Alex was.
“Meghan, that guy told me I could use it (Neal) I am NOT unpacking this box.”
By this time Alex was in my mothers face telling her she must unpack the box. You can imagine how little my mother appreciated this. All I wanted was this damn experience over. Alex wasn’t backing down and my mother suresthehell wasn’t backing down, so I chose the path of least resistance and yelled at my mother to just fucking unpack the goddamnbox. You can imagine how well that one went over. As I unpacked the dish box, mom was in the corner livid. She kept on about how ‘HE TOLD ME I COULD’ I gave the box to Alex, to his credit he didn’t gloat and that was a good thing.
Mom later told me that at that point, she turned off. Mom and Tom pretty much left the packing to the jack asses who’s job it was to pack my house. Sorry mom, you only hurt the ones you love. The movers actually were AWFUL. Even Tom, the eternal pacifist suggested telling the movers to just stop what they are doing and leave. He hated them and wanted them away from him.
About this time, I got a call from a friend asking how the move was going. It was something about a break from the insanity, a kind voice on the line asking about me that just started the water works. I sobbed almost uncontrollably for a good 10 minutes. Kind of feel bad for the friend on the phone. Nothing they could do but listen to me sob. This was a lot to take. These movers were the most insensitive, jackass buffoon clod head jerkoffs ever and I wanted nothing more to do with them. They had seen me crying and later asked me in their most sensitive monosyllabic grunts “what is up with the crying?” I tried to explain to them what all I had been through with the 1500 miles away planning of the move, the just getting to the Springs on Thursday, the driving and the arriving that day (phew)
My reply??????!!!!!!…they shrugged,
“Life is hard, I have to drive to Wyoming tomorrow and do this all over again…I am on the road all the time…I don’t get paid shit...my girlfriend is crazy, wanna see a picture of my kid?”
So once again I am nothing, it is all about them and their problems even though I am paying a hefty price for their ‘services’ all they did was complain about how hard it was for them. (jackmotherfuckingnobrainnitwitstupidasses)
My friend, thinking she might get a little more reasonable answer, asks the movers again…
‘When do you think you will be delivering the stuff to Burbank?’
’10-21 days ma’am’ was their dogmatic reply.
‘It’s at most a 17 hour drive…how can you say 10-21 days?’
‘We don’t know where else we have to stop. We have to go to Wyoming tomorrow. 10-21 days ma’am’
My friend shook her head.
The original plan was for mom, Tom and I to spend the night at my house on Monday night (as the movers weren’t supposed to be there until Tuesday….I thought)
Mom comes up to me and says
“Tom and I are going to look for a motel to stay at tonight”
All I heard was “…we aren’t staying the night here with you…we are leaving”
I looked around at what was once my pride and joy, my home, my first responsible adult thing I had done…it resembled the Who house after the Grinch had had his way with it. Reminince of happy home owning and careful picture hanging, warm cozy nights in front of the fire, gone and in its place a tattered blank box with bits of string and box tape scattered about in a frat house sort of way.
Once again, I sobbed uncontrollably
“Please…please don’t leave me here.” (god, just retelling this story makes me mist up)
I had no pride, I pleaded like an innocent man who had just been given the death sentence. Even the movers stopped their dismembering of my house to see the spectacle.
Mom assured me that the plan included me too. We needed a nice place to stay and calm down.
They left to procure sleeping arrangements and the movers stopped for a pizza break.
My friend tried to make me lay down for a nap. Yeah right. I couldn’t sleep. It was getting late and the packing wasn’t finished. I wanted these bastards out of my house.
Apparently at this time my friend had a little sit down with the movers.
They asked her what was up with all my hysterics, so she sat them down and told them my story. She also told them that we were helping them with their job and to lay off being complete jack asses. (in so many words)
My friend assured me they were done being fuck heads. I have no idea what she really said to them, but for the most part, they were actually a little nicer…Alex’s English got better after that too (jackass)
But it wasn’t until I slipped the lead wanker a bill ‘for taking care of my stuff’ that they really became tolerable. (slimy cockroaches)
Mom had to tell me this story later…I had completely forgotten about it.
Alex said he was done packing the kitchen. I looked around and saw that my toaster oven was still not packed. I pointed to it and said ‘what about the toaster oven?’
“Oh you don’t need that” said Alex the Jack-ass-in-chief
I looked at him with disbelief.
“Pack my toaster oven” I said
You may think that he was kidding…he actually wasn’t kidding. If he didn’t want to pack it, he told me I didn’t need it.
He told me not to pack my jackets.
‘You won’t need them in California’
I told him that I had been there before and yes, it gets chilly at night, especially in the winter months. He just shrugged and continued packing.
This is above and beyond all the things they said I couldn’t take,
“No liquids Ma’am….it will leak”
Neal had originally told this rule to me as I was packing my perfume.
“No liquids ma’am, they will leak.”
I looked at him blankly.
“You mean to tell me I can’t pack my perfume? Hundreds of dollars of perfume…and you won’t let me bring it?”
“It will leak.” is all he said.
“Fuck you.” is all I said in reply. I know how to pack. (and by the way…not a single bottle of perfume leaked)

There was a bit of a down time and Alex’s cell phone began to ring.
“Shouldn’t you answer your phone, it might be work.”
“No, it is my girlfriend.” Said Alex, who’s English had become intelligible yet again.
“She wants me to move to Utah….She drives me crazy…I need to break up with her you wanna see the pic of my son…blah blah blah”
I was listening simply to get on his good side so all my stuff would arrive in one piece and before 10 -21 days.
“Yeah, women hu?!...You gonna pack up those vases above the refrigerator?”

Mom and Tom came back from the hotel hunt pleased and with a 12 pack of Coors. Now you know me, I’m not a Coors woman but I gratefully gulped down 3 or 4 in 10 minutes. At this point we were all so fucking sick to shit of these piss head ass hole bipolar movers, we sat in the living room drinking beer and laughing as we watched them finish packing and load the moving truck. I laughed for the first time in weeks.
Finally, what seemed like would never happen…those horrible horrible men drove away.
“See you in 10-21 days” I thought I would never see my possessions in one piece again. This chapter was finished and over.
I packed up my cat, got in the back of mom’s car and let them drive me to the hotel.
It was at that time that I realized that I hadn’t eaten a single thing all day. I didn’t think I could eat (stomach was full of stress) but there is something about Taco Bell that always works. 
With me tucked cozy into a standard but clean warm room, my cat exploring the new room she was in, the cartoon network on the tele and 6 beers and a grilled stuffed burrito in me, I drifted off into a somewhat uneasy slumber. I kept thinking about my lap top that I forced myself not to bring, I still had so much work to do.