State of Megan - In Five Parts

Hey guys, I know I've been mysteriously absent lately. I've decided that in order to update you appropriately, that I would tackle one topic per day for a whole week.

Today's topic iiiiiiiiis.....

Part One: MOVING!

Moving is never fun. I don't think I need to tell any of you that. This move, however, was unusually nightmarish due to some insane outlying factors. For one, I am currently embroiled in a lawsuit with my old property manager over the whole water damage mess I wrote about here. It's a total catastrophe. A headache beyond all proportions of headaches. I asked for a simple request. A barter if you will. Something Americans all the way back to the days of Conestoga wagons and the Oregon Trail have been doing, quite easily, might I add. I asked for a twenty-four hour extension to my lease from my landlord and in exchange, I would drop the issue of reimbursement for damages to my personal property due to their negligence.

Seems like a pretty opportunistic trade, no?

No. No it was not.

Not only did they refuse my offer, but they countered with kicking me out of my place even earlier, by 2 p.m. on Sept. 30th. So from 2 p.m. to 8 a.m. I was bound to be homeless. Not just me. Me and all my shit. AND I HAVE A LOT OF SHIT.

After selling half of what I own on Craigslist (god bless you, Craig and your inimitable List) and moving every last nail and screw and dust particle to my boyfriend's apartment, I successfully was out of my place by 2 p.m. Keep in mind this is taking place during the day on a work week, so it is JUST ME moving ALL MY SHIT, eighteen boxes, a bed, ten thousand books, three wardrobe boxes of clothes, one for JUST COATS. MY COUCH.

On a side note, my boyfriend's apartment is the mirror image of mine. He has a roommate, so the space for all my stuff was limited to a 10x10 area behind their couch in the dining room. I don't know if I've ever mentioned this, but he lives across the hall from me. Everyday I live an episode of Friends. It's incredibly convenient. I never had to pack an overnight bag or leave a toothbrush. All traces of me, safely locked behind my apartment doors. When I lock myself out, I just buzz the intercom and voila, I am ushered inside. Low on butter or milk? Just don't want to cook? Walk across the hall. Need something heavy brought down to my car? Not even a phone call needed. Want a 60" rear projection flat panel HDTV to watch Cubs games? Um I'M THERE. It's been great. And now, it has served it's purpose as my very own storage solution.

But I digress. The night before my move I was freaking out. I know I am 28 years old and that is certainly old enough to be doing things on my own, but I've never lived alone and I've never had to move alone and what if the movers try to screw me into buying seventeen rolls of packing tape and what if my property manager catches me moving out the front instead of the back and decides to fine me $100 and what if I get to my new place and my keys don't work and the movers throw all my stuff into the alley and my head explodes?

Freaking out.

I end up waking up around 5:15 a.m. and couldn't go back to sleep I was so anxious. So I'm sitting up in bed at 5:20, just sitting there, knees pulled into my chest in the darkness. Boyfriend's hand grabs at mine and he sleepily mutters, "Go back to sleep." I think about that for a second and then climb over his lifeless body, nearly kneeing him in the crotch and say, "Um I'm gonna go to Dunkin' Donuts. I'll be back." He gives me a quizzical look and just buries his face in his pillow.

So now it's 5:30 and I'm in my car in the dark on my way to the Dunkin' Donuts down the street. It's oddly crowded for this time of the morning, I order my dozen donuts and three bottles of water and leave. When I get back, I notice that the loading zone in front of the bar below my apartment is totally empty. This is a huge score. I pull my car right into the middle of about two and half spots and go upstairs. I arrange the donuts and waters artfully on the kitchen counter and by this time its about a quarter after six.

Boyfriend's roommate is sleeping on the couch, so I gently nudge him to get up and move to his room. The TV is blaring ESPN. After several failed attempts, I leave him and go to the window. A fucking van is parking in the spots I have so circumspectly saved!

So then I run downstairs and bark at the guys unloading their van. "My moving truck is coming any minute now! You can't park here!" One of them looks at me like I am a crazy girl. The other one says in a thick Eastern European accent, "We are painting all day in apartment upstairs. Where we go?" This is me, frantic, "Um I don't know, across the street in like ANY of the open spots? Please, they have nowhere to park. It will be gone in a half hour. Please, just move your van. PLEASE?" Then the one guy mutters something to the other two and they keep unloading their stuff onto the sidewalk. I just stand there and stare at them with eyes burning into the back of their heads hotter than the fire of a thousand suns.

Finally the gang leader turns around and says again, "Where you want us to go? We paint ALL DAY."

Then in a voice that I didn't even know existed inside me growled, "I don't CARE where you go, just MOVE YOUR VAN."

It was seriously something out of Ghostbusters. "There is no Dana, only ZOOOOOOL!"

The other two guys stopped unloading and came around the other side of the van to look at me. Then for about a whole uninterrupted thirty seconds, the leader just stared at me. It was kind of intense. I just stood there in the typical mad girl stance. Feet wide, hands on hips, scowl on my face.

He said something to his crew in another language and then they moved the van across the street just as the moving truck was pulling up.

Oh I forgot to mention that the reason I had to move my shit across the hall is well, number one, because they wouldn't extend my lease and number two, because my new landlord told me that I "couldn't possibly move in any earlier" because the current tenant was also moving out at 2 p.m. on the 30th and they needed time to paint and clean before I moved in. This is even after I begged and pleaded with her....told her I would do the painting and cleaning myself. Told her I would let them paint the apartment occupied after I moved in. Told her to take pity on me and my homelessness. Finally, she said "I'm deeply sorry" and I walked away dejectedly with slumped shoulders.

Another defeat.

Little did I know the battle was just beginning. After that I called to schedule the movers and could not find a single company that could give me a set moving time. One company told me anywhere between 10 a.m. and 1 p.m. One told me flat out that I should have called two weeks ago to schedule a move ON THE BUSIEST MOVING DAY OF THE YEAR. Uh huh, yes. This is why I don't do anything alone. Because I fail when it's just me. I don't know these things.

One last call to make. Done Rite Movers. This place sounds legit, right? Haaaaaaaaaaaaa. HA. I left a message and tried not to sound like I had just been sobbing earlier. Still sniffling, a woman called me back. She said they had a cancellation and that they could schedule the move on the 1st for 7 a.m.

HALLELUJAH! "And so shines a good deed in a weary world."

Now. The key pick up mishap.

I swear to you this is last disaster I will outline.

After I scheduled my move-in time, I emailed my new property manager to let her know that I would be moving in the morning on the 1st and if I can pick up the keys the day before.

"Oh no" she replies "that is just not possible." "Your key pick-up and your move-in date need to happen on the same day and our office does not open until 9:30 a.m., so you will need to reschedule your move-in."

"You will need to reschedule your move-in."

As if I can just make a call and magically reschedule to a time that is better for her. Poof! You now have a 10 a.m. move in time and the movers will pick you up in a diamond covered chariot with horses that shit money.

I calmly explained to her that I had already put down a non-refundable deposit on the movers and that if she had wanted me to move in at a specific time, she should have said something other than "Just let me know your move-in time." in her last email.

I don't usually say this about other women, but I'll make an exception for you, Tiffany from Enterprise Realty.

You are A HUGE BITCH.

The queen bitch among worker bitches. The wickedest bitch in the Midwest. You are such a bitch I bet you bark every time you hear an ambulance pass by. BEEEEEE - OTCH. Bitch.

On that note, she told me that if I agreed to let her paint the apartment after I moved in, she would give me the keys early. I said, "Whatever. Fine. When can I get the keys?"

Her response was this, "I have 65 apartments moving this week so the only time you will be able to pick up the keys is Monday from 12 p.m. - 1 p.m."

I said yes, even though a one hour window seemed ridiculous. This would mean I would have to drive 45 minutes out to my office in the morning, drive 45 minutes back to Lakeview at noon, pick up the keys, drive 45 minutes back to work, then drive 45 minutes back to the city to come home. That's four trips back and forth, a whole tank of gas. And at $4.89 a gallon, it's also expensive. I guess "Tiff" never had to commute.

So my very altruistic and munificent boyfriend, upon hearing the patented "I'm gonna cry" waver in my voice over the phone, offered to pick them up for me, since he works ten minutes away from the Lakeview office.

A sigh of relief. I email her to tell her that he will be there at noon, with a check for $1342.50 for first month's rent (rent and half), to pick up the keys.

I get this email response on Monday morning at 11 a.m.

"He can't pick up your keys. He is not on the lease."

That's it. That's all. Just those two sentences. No alternate offerings. No I'm sorry, but I just can't do its. Not even any fake effort. Just straight up BITCH PLEASE.

Wow.

Ok so at this point I need to figure this out. Am I going to drive back and forth to get these keys? I have no other option, it seems, so I walk into my boss's office to tell her I might be a little late on my lunch break and start explaining the situation. Then I just lose it. The flood gates open and I would have lifted my arms to shield my hysterically crying eyes, but they were too sore from moving a hundred and fifteen boxes all by myself.

The she started crying, bless her heart. It was a genuine woman to woman cryfest. She told me she understood and to take the rest of the afternoon off. I told her she was the best boss ever and hurried my mascara covered ass out of her office.

The key pick up happens and now that I have some extra time, I head for Comcast to get my new HD-DVR cable box for my NEW PLASMA HDTV. Of course it's like 1:00 p.m. so why wouldn't there be a line of like twenty-two people waiting. I finally get to the front and tell her that I need to start new service and pick up my cable box. She gives me the run around about how the current tenant hasn't disconnected service yet, so I can't have anything installed until she does so. She calls said tenant and leaves a message. A stroke of luck. The tenant calls her back while I am at the window and says its fine, they can disconnect her service. That she's sorry she didn't call sooner, but she has been moving all morning into her new apartment.

I blink my eyes and say, "She said she was moving into her new apartment TODAY? As in THIS MORNING?" I ask.

Ok, let's reverse a second. I want you to scroll back up to the paragraph that begins "Oh I forgot to mention..." where the property manager explicitly states that I "couldn't possibly move in any earlier" due to blah blah blah BULLSHIT. I grabbed my DVR and fumed all the way to my car, then fumed all the way home, then fumed in my empty apartment by myself where I scrubbed the refrigerator down in rubber gloves, all the while fuming and gagging because THAT SHIT WAS DISGUSTING.

So in a nutshell, both my property managers screwed me over, one straight up lied to me, I made an unnecessary move of all my shit to my boyfriend's place for the night, had a mini-breakdown in my boss's office, almost killed a civilian at Comcast, and probably now have a hit on me from the Russian mafia painters.

Um, the movers were nice.

*think silver lining, Megan, think silver lining*

Oh and someone stole my front two hubcaps. Fuck you karma you bitch whore. Just the two? Seriously?

Post one.

Done.