The prospect of moving from a big San Ramon house to a nearby apartment seemed as pleasant as a root canal endured while speaking publicly, naked.
I have a long history of bad moving experiences. When my ex-husband and I were still married and living in a condo in Hayward, we made the mistake of hiring the cheapest movers we could find. On the morning of the move, they didn’t show up.
We called to check on their whereabouts and were told they were moving another home first and that we could expect them around noonish.
Though they’d promised to arrive by 9 a.m., we thought, no worries. We had friends and relatives over to help make the move easier, and we were only moving, after all, a few minutes away to another condo in the very same complex. How hard could that be?
Turns out, hellishly hard. The movers never did come. Ever. We had to carry all of our stuff down a flight of stairs at the old place and up a flight of stairs at the next. Up and down, carrying heavy boxes and bags, from the wee hours in the morning to the wee hours of the night.
At the end of the day, my legs felt like Gumby, my brain like popcorn. After such a chaotic, unorganized move, I couldn’t find my contacts afterwards for a week, which was fine, since it took at least that long to recover from the trauma of it all.
Our move last weekend went much better. Mostly because I was smart enough to take the advice of my much-smarter-than-me ex-sister-in-law.
She advised me to use real movers this time. From a reputable, honest company that prides itself in no-hidden-fees and making the whole experience as painless as possible.
Miraculously, I found such a moving company: Flat Rate Movers. Remember those words, San Ramonians the next time you move. You will thank me one day.
They arrived at my house a few minutes before the time promised, a great relief. Flat Rate sent over four nice, strong, friendly (and exceedingly handsome) movers to ensure the speediest move possible. My knights in shining armor.
I thought I had the house all packed when they arrived — just a few kitchen pantry items left, mostly – but that kitchen stuff takes up lots of boxes, and I ran out. No worries. The Flat Rate movers gave me more boxes and even helped me pack the rest up.
Be still, my beating heart.
I could go on and on about how polite they were, how understanding about the prospect of carrying all our stuff up three flights of stairs at the new apt, on Super Bowl Sunday no less.
Maybe it was just watching someone else carry the weight of my junk for a short while that enamored me to them so.
If I could pack up my anxiety about being a single mom again, living alone with my kids for the first time in years, you can bet I’d let them unload that for me as well, and take it straight to the dumpster.
That’s the beauty of apartment living – lots of dumpsters. Apartment living is a cleansing of both house and spirit.
The worst part about those Flat Rate Movers? They left.
I may have to move again next month just to see their strong arms flex once more as they carry the remnants of my life up and down yet another path of stairs.
Contact them via www.flatrate.com.