We gotta move these refrigerators…
I’ve had Dire Straits stuck in my head all day. This morning was to be the final big push of the move, the day that we moved the last of the heavy appliances. I had a brainwave last night and called up a nearby secondhand whitegoods store. “Hi, I’ve moved into a new house and I’ve now got an extra washing machine. Do you want it? And as long as you’re here, can you help us move a fridge?” (That’s what you call putting your feminine wiles to work.) The guy agreed to come by this morning “between 9 and 10” to pick up the washing machine and help us move stuff. By 9am the Snook and I had emptied the fridge into a cooler, unhooked all the washer connections, and shifted all three appliances into place near their respective front doors. Then we waited. And we waited. And he didn’t turn up. At 10am I rang the shop again to find out where he was. The guy who answered didn’t know: “He hasn’t gotten in to work yet.” He asked if we could stay til 11:30. “Uh, we’ve both already taken time off to be here NOW. That really sucks.” So as I stood there, fuming, something snapped. “F*** IT. WE’RE MOVING THEM OURSELVES.” Thus, fueled with the kind of adrenaline that only comes of being screwed by a service professional, the Snook and I got to work. And folks, we moved both washing machines and that fridge (up six stairs!) with only a two-wheeled trolley and the sweat of our own brows. It was glorious. I’ll probably be sore tomorrow, but today I feel like a superwoman.
Oh, and the washing machine guy finally turned up 45 minutes late. He took the old washer and gave us $100 credit at the shop. Better than nothing, I guess!