Texas, part II: Dude, where’s our stuff?

When last we left off in Welcome to Texas, y’all, Rob and I were waiting for our furniture to arrive from Florida. Our move-in date (as scheduled) was June 3rd. As you may recall, two weeks later, on June 15th, All Movers Relocation offered to deliver half of our furniture with no specifications of how we would get the rest of our furniture, so we declined. We preferred to have all of our furniture delivered at once. Thus, we waited.

June 20th.

June 25th.

June 30th.

Everyone offered us encouraging words of promise and prayers that our furniture would arrive soon.

“As long as it doesn’t arrive when we’re visiting New Mexico–that is the only time we do not want it,” I corrected.

Rob and I had planned a trip to Roswell long before we knew we’d still be waiting on our furniture. He hadn’t visited my hometown yet, and there was a collection of people who wanted to meet the mysterious man who woo’d me. As soon as I told my mom we were coming, she went straight to work to organize a “Meet Rob” party on the 4th of July. They purchased trays of appetizers and had a freezer full of meat for grilling. Invitations with our faces had been sent to the town. It was happening.

“Naw, they won’t deliver on a holiday,” Rob assured me. “You think they want to work on the July 4th?”

“No. But it could be tactical. What if they deliver on a holiday hoping we won’t be there, so they can charge us more?”

“Ha,” Rob laughed. “That’s a good one.”

July 1st.

July 2nd.

July 3rd. We went to church that morning and headed to the airport. After a quick scare in which I left my laptop on the airplane, we were on our way to the Currier household in good ol’ Roswell, New Mexico, Alien Capital of the USA. My dad, who, when not called “The Judge,” is known as “Tour Guide Charlie,” gave Rob the highlights as we drove home. I pointed out the only thing I thought worth mentioning, which is the Perk and Jerk: a drive through coffee shop that sells beef jerky. I highly recommend it.

We hung out with the fam, had a nice dinner of New Mexican food, and at 8pm CT, I got a text message from an unknown number. “Good evening ms jenny [sic]. This is Victor, I have a delivery for you. My ETA is tomorrow [July 4th] between 6am-8am.”

My heart stopped. Then it began pounding so loudly inside my ears I couldn’t hear. My breathing rate tripled. A blind rage overcame me and I banshee-yelled so loudly that Victor heard me all the way in Alabama.

In actuality, I did not yell, but we all (my parents included) panicked, given that All Moving Relocation would charge us $300+ per day for every day we weren’t able to accept the delivery. While pacing the house, Rob found a loophole in the paperwork that said we would be charged if we were not there to accept the furniture at “an agreed upon time.”

“We have not agreed to this time!” Rob declared.

He got on the phone with Victor, who, for what it’s worth, seemed like an honest guy, and Victor said he would make another delivery in Tennessee first and return to Dallas on the 6th or 7th.

“Perfect,” Rob said, and we all breathed a sigh of relief. I’m sure my mom was already on the phone mid-sentence with the Poor Clares when he relayed the news. That’s how quickly their prayers are answered.

Thankfully, we were able to enjoy the rest of our time in Roswell and meet the people, greet the aliens, eat the food, see some art, and even watch a show at the planetarium. My parents gave us matching octopus outfits, and we returned to Dallas fat and happy on the eve of July 5th.

July 6th.

July 7th.

July 8th. Victor says he will deliver our furniture the next day, in the afternoon.

July 9th. Victor says he will be there at 5pm.

5pm

6pm

7pm

8pm. WE HAVE A TRUCK, EVERYONE. WE. HAVE. A. TRUCK.

There was a lot of paperwork to deal with, and we had to pay Victor before he would unload the truck. But we befriended Victor pretty quickly when he told us how much he dislikes All Movers Relocation and disagrees with their approach (he’s an independent contractor). He said they had first wanted him to deliver only half our stuff, then leave our furniture exposed to the rain, and take it with him to Tennessee, and who knows what else. “I told them no!” he said.

Thank God for Victor.

For the next two hours, we clogged up the entire elevator system in our apartment building. It’s only five stories (and that’s if you’re using the rooftop pool), and yet the neighbors refused to take the stairs. I’m sure there were complaints. Rob and I did a lot of unloading (of the elevators) ourselves since Victor had only one assistant, and that guy looked like he was going to melt into a puddle of his own sweat by the end of it.

I had my doubts about the condition of our goods, based on things like this:

but ultimately, only one shelf of one bookcase was broken, and only a few minor items went missing. I have to say I’m impressed. I foresaw much worse.

The only downside was that, for me, the idea of being surrounded by a sea of boxes that need to be unpacked is equivalent to Dante’s level of hell that involves being steeped in excrement. It only made sense that by the time Victor and his sweaty friend left, at 10pm, it was a mere two hours before my birthday. A final jab at my sensibilities from the moving company was giving the birthday gift of chaos. We inaugurated my special day be staying up until 1:00am to make sure we had a mattress and boxspring to sleep on and a way to make coffee in the morning.

I should also mention that on the morning of my birthday, I woke up with all the symptoms for COVID, which was confirmed as a diagnosis a few days later. Because I was fever-y, and achey, and sleepy, my blessed rockstar of a husband gave me the BEST possible gift: he unpacked our apartment while I lied in bed all day. He did more in two days than I did in two weeks in Florida. I sure do love this man!

In the afternoon, a couple from church delivered flowers for me, and a birthday cake, with “get well” wishes. Rob’s parents sent a musical candle that blossomed like a flower and wouldn’t stop playing the birthday song until we utterly disassembled it. Rob sang to me and made me chicken noodle soup, and minus feeling physically terrible, it was a wonderful birthday.

And now, after two weeks of quarantine (and some marathons of Only Murders in the Building and House of Cards), behold the transformation:

Thirty-three on Thassos.

Thirty-four in Providence.

Thirty-five in Orlando.

Thirty-six in Texas.

Thanks for coming with me on the journey 🙂