Last week I remembered that my deep freezer would need defrosting before the move. Actually, a frost-free deep freezer should be defrosted once a year or so. So naturally, the last time I defrosted it was sometime in 2002. I’m talking there was stuff on the top shelf that was frozen TO the shelf and then covered over in a frosty freezer- snowbank.
Defrosting the freezer means the freezer needs to be emptied out. Which means I needed to get over the fact that yes, it’s wasted money to throw away the burritos I bought on sale in 2004, but it needs to be done. Likewise with the bag of frozen corn that fell behind the petrified pork chops, and the BLUE ice cream that my ex-husband bought and I shoved to the back of the freezer.
I did find a sweet potato pie in the freezer that appears to have been bought within the last year, so I went ahead and baked it. Because I didn’t want to throw away any more food than I had to, you understand.
At the rate I’m currently going, the entire pie will be gone in another day. But it’s NOT MY FAULT. My weekend has just been very PIE-WORTHY.
Yesterday, I ran around packing for most of the day. In the evening a couple of women from church came over to help me, and that was good for about two hours until I couldn’t take it anymore and said, “Well! Thanks! I think I’m in good shape now!”
I felt like I was perhaps being ungrateful, but picture it: The first woman showed up, and she is completely laid back and ready to do whatever I need. So we started in the kids’ playroom and I sorted through some stuff and she packed things as I handed them to her and that was all great. When the second woman arrived, everything changed, because she is one of these HURRY UP AND GET THE SHOW ON THE ROAD kinds of people.
I would say “I think I need to sort through this stuff before we can pack it,” and she’d say “Well that’s okay, go ahead,” but then she’d KEEP PACKING STUFF even while I was trying to sort through it. And WORSE, she’d throw stuff away that “looked like trash.”
Believe you me, I like nothing better than being able to throw something away instead of packing it, but not everything is trash. And after the third time I fished something out of the trash that I wanted to keep, I decided it was time for them to stop helping me and go home.
Today I had a (different) friend come over to help and she was PERFECT, helping when I needed it and just sitting and working on her own stuff and chatting with me while I went through stuff that needed going through. We got another good chunk of packing out of the way, and if that had been all that happened today I would not have had to eat so much pie already.
The other thing that happened today was that I sold my dining room set. Huzzah! Guess how long it took these people to take it away. GO ON, GUESS!
Did you guess one hour?
Did you guess two hours?
Are you now gaping at the computer screen and saying, “Mir, it did NOT take two hours! Tell me it didn’t take two hours!”
Well, don’t worry. It didn’t take two hours.
It took THREE AND A HALF HOURS.
The (very spacey) woman I’d been dealing with shows up with her husband, daughter and a moving truck. The three of them come inside and start examining and discussing the dining room set. (Keep in mind, they’ve already agreed to buy it.) In the meantime, my friend and I are packing boxes, and they’re all just standing there, having a conversation.
“This right here is solid wood, I think.”
“Yes, but see over here? That’s a veneer.”
“Hmmmm, you may be right. What about this? That feels like it’s solid.”
“Well, it’s a solid piece with a veneer backing.”
And then I stood up and screamed “OAK AND OAK VENEERS, TAKE IT AND LEAVE!” (Not really. I wish I had.)
After a lengthy discussion, the trio approaches me and asks for directions to the nearest bank. They were short on cash to pay me, you see.
Off to the bank they went. When they return, the husband comes in and offers me 20% less than the agreed-upon price, because the set isn’t solid wood.
I never said the set was solid wood.
I start looking around for a hidden camera.
I split the difference with him, kicking myself for being a sucker, but hoping this meant they would now take the furniture and leave.
He gives me a fistful of small, unmarked bills and then he and his wife start DISCUSSING how to move the furniture.
While all of this is going on, their daughter—who is just a little older than Chickadee—is weaving her way around the downstairs of my house, in and out of boxes, touching everything. She is taking things OUT of boxes and picking things up that aren’t packed yet and leaving them in other places.
Her parents don’t say a word about any of this. In fact, at one point, I hear her complaining of being bored and the mother says, “I saw some books in on the desk in there, go find something to read.” Because I live in a library, you know.
I start fantasizing about smothering her in ketchup and EATING HER.
(Somewhere in here I began to wonder if this child was… I don’t know… quite all there. Because really, there were only two possible explanations for her behavior: Either she is mentally much younger than she appears, or her crunchy-granola parents with their hemp shoes believe she will be stifled if they ever teach her any manners. I suspect it was a little of each.)
Eventually the couple gets the table to the door and discovers that it will. not. fit. They must take it apart! With hex wrenches! Do I have any hex wrenches? No, I do not. Hey! I know! Let’s have a whole discussion about hex wrenches right here at my wide-open door while every bug in the tri-state area comes inside. Okay!
They leave to go buy hex wrenches. My dining room chairs are left in a neat line along my driveway.
When they return, the wife asks if it’s okay for the daughter to climb my maple tree. I say that’s fine and am relieved she won’t be wandering the house anymore.
The tree climbing lasts about 4 minutes. Then the daughter commences going in and out and in and out of the house. While her parents discuss how to move the furniture.
My friend and I pack some more boxes. After about an hour the couple manages to move ONE HALF of the china cabinet out to the driveway. My friend manages to repackage my Cuisinart perfectly into the factory box, and I am filled with awe and admiration. For a moment, I forget how much I hate the people in my house who are strategizing every corner as if the fate of civilization hangs in the balance.
The daughter begins opening my pantry doors and poking around inside on the shelves.
My children are back from their weekend with their dad! Hooray! They are sticky and dirty and delighted, which is just how I like them. They want to know who these people are, and where is our furniture going?
I direct my ex to the carload of items I have thoughtfully set aside for him to take back to his house. He manages to load it all up in the time it takes this couple to readjust a strap on the dolly they’ve brought with them to assist in the glacial pace of moving my furniture. My children run around like crazed weasels and the couple’s daughter opens my basement door and peers down the stairs.
I briefly fantasize about bumping into her. Ooops!
At LONG LAST the couple has ALL of the designated furniture out of the house and lined up on the driveway. They are now discussing how to best situate it inside the moving truck.
My ex leaves and I direct the kids to start their showers.
The couple’s daughter comes back inside the house. I ask if she needs anything, and she says no, then wanders into the playroom and starts poking at my kids’ computer. I comment to my friend that I’ve never had a feral goat in the house, but I imagine it would be something like this. Just when my head is about to explode, the girl wanders out of the house again.
My friend is now about ready to leave, and as she packs up her stuff, the daughter comes inside AGAIN.
At this point, I cheerfully inform her that We! Are! Going! Outside!
The couple are inside the back of the truck, discussing the furniture. Of course.
“Hi!” I wave to them from my front steps, where I’ve just shoved their daughter out of the door in front of me. “My kids are getting ready for bed, now, so I’m going to lock the door.” The husband took no notice of me, but the wife looks at me with a funny expression. “Yes, well, your daughter here keeps coming in and out, and I need my kids to settle down, and…” I trail off.
At the base of my maple tree sits our birdhouse. Earlier, said birdhouse was IN the tree, as I know of very few birds looking for a house on the ground.
“Wow, I wonder what happened to the birdhouse,” I say.
“Oh!” says the wife. “I think GoatGirl may have kicked it while she was climbing. Sorry!”
“I DIDN’T KICK IT!” the girl screeches in indignation.
“Don’t worry about it,” I respond automatically. “Anyway, um, so we’re going to go get ready for bed. So, um, thanks, and enjoy your furniture.”
“Have a good move!” the wife calls after me, as I head back into the house.
For all I know, they’re STILL out in the driveway. I’m afraid to look.
Yikes! Why am I worried that you may go check on your kids in their beds and will find goat girl tucked under the covers too?
I would have been crying. You have my sympathies.
Well at least you can laugh about it now its over. I hope they have gone now.
And my parents wonder why I hate most people. The above is exhibit number 327. Sheesh.
Craigslist is useful, but it draws out some darned scary people. For sure. Just keep reminding yourself that it’s almost over, you’re almost in your new home with your new husband and your new swimming pool!!
I just looked to see if you were still online, because, dammit, *I need to know* if they are still out there.
Holy crap. That was funny.
Okay, probably more so for me than for you . . .
Oh goodness, I’m sorry Mir! I don’t think you need another PIECE of pie, I think you deserve a whole ‘nother pie, all to yourself.
Hang in there, you’re doing great! :)
What a nightmare!!!
How can people be so clueless????
i think i would have had to been rude & locked the child outdoors as soon as the final piece of furniture hit the driveway. i’m not quite sure how you haven’t torn your hair out yet. you haven’t, have you?
OH MY GAWD. And this is why your blog is so very interesting, because who could make up something like this???? Crazy, crazy people….
Feral goat LOLOLOLOL
I would have not so politely asked them to please, keep their daughter with them as you are trying to move. Not that they would have noticed…
You are far too polite. I would have mentioned a very hungry pet alligator that was roaming the house and if Goatgirl opened any more cupboards, she would be lunch.
Next listing will read “be prepared to move said furniture items by yourself, QUICKLY. I take cash, and vodka.”
Freaks. The lot of them.
Pie-worthy, indeed! Did you check the soap dish to make sure she didn’t break it off?
How ridiculous these people are!
There should be a college course – “Moving 301.” I cannot believe one of your helpers was just throwing your stuff away! Arrrghhh!
See, you had the wrong helper there on the day the glacial moving family. I feel certain that “throwing your stuff away lady” would have efficiently dispatched with feral goat girl.
I have one word for people like that… MORONS!!
Holy crap! You really attract the crazies, eh? First Chris, now these people….
Wow. Just . . . wow.
So, um, since they were in your house so long, did you happen to mention tht it was for sale? And that their daughter seemed extraordinarily at home in it?
What is it about helpful people who only want to be helpful if it’s completely on their terms? We had this plumbing leak this weekend (well, it’s been going on for a few years now but we decided to FIX it this weekend. File that under Worst. Ideas. Ever.) About the time my husband starting cutting holes in the sheetrock and I was crying in the kitchen (literally, but over something different) and we were THISCLOSE to calling a freaking plumber, my husband’s friends all weighed in that this is an easy fix and you know, REAL MEN fix their plumbing themselves.
Needless to say, we now have a leak inside the wall instead of just a drippy faucet and it’s going to take me months before I can drink another margarita. (We all have our responses to peer pressure.) Hang in there, Mir! –Barb
That visit is totally worth the whole pie. I mean, how many calories did you burn off with the repressing the urge to kill people. I find that very calorie-intensive.
Just imagine yourself in the pool, floating peacefully. And now imagine the Goat Family all *still* in *their* driveway, trying to figure out how to get the furniture out of the truck and inside *their* house. Why, they might all starve to death in the intervening years.
That only took one pie? Girlfriend you are good. It would have taken me two pies and an axe.
Forget the pie, Chica. You need the mother of all comfort foods – CAKE AND ICE CREAM. Together.
Come on over — we’re having a birthday party this week!
oh my goodness, you can’t make this stuff up, poor Mir!!
I hate when parents aren’t parents.
You do realize that ten years down the road, this family is going to be wondering why their daughter is a brat that they can’t handle anymore…
Oh look – it’s Paris Hilton!
Hopefully, they’re out of the driveway by the time you need to bring in the burly moving men!
I would have kicked her. Hard. Or called on the birds for a blitz attack on the little witch that took out their home. Sheesh. 3 1/2 hours?!?! I agree that cake and ice cream should be the pie chaser.
Goatgirl and Glacial-paced Family? Your sense of humor may be all that saved you. Oh, that and the fact that you could get even by blogging them later.
Just keep repeating… it’s great bloging material… it’s great blogging material..
Your poor thing! I’m sorry but I did laugh quite hard!
Snicker. GoatGirl. I love that.
Hahahahahaa. Holy cow. Use the back door today.
Lord love a duck. It is a good thing you are moving. Perhaps your house should come with a letter and a photo of Goatgirl so that the new owners can return her to family when she wanders back in.
Thank goodness you have a blog and can blow off steam about people like these . . . Karma will get them. Good.
And I saw an item in “The Onion” about your new next-door neighbor (soon to be ex-neighbor, hopefully). It was something like: “Couple keeps home exactly as it was when they bought it, for sentiment’s sake. ‘Oh, no, we couldn’t take down the FOR SALE sign — it was there when we first saw the house! It will always remind me of that shining moment.”
Are you freaking kidding me? Where are these people *coming* from?
Deep breaths. Pie. Deep breaths. Pie.
Misery! Good for you for locking them out.
If you have any more furniture to sell, just leave it in the house. It will be a house-warming present to the future owners, and a lot less trouble for you.
Smothered her in ketchup? LOL.
Love the site!
I’m thinking that since they are (of course) still in your driveway (watch out! there’s a glacier approaching!) you should pack them up with the rest of your (considerable) stuff and celebrate your new life (with Otto) by Drowning Them In Your New Swimming Pool.
I believe this act would greatly enhance your enjoyment of said body of water. Also, I will throw in my husband as a freebie! I mean that literally. Once I put on his cement overshoes, of course. Kidding! I am just kidding.
I hate selling on craigslist for this very reason. I have 2 leather chairs in my living room that I am desperate to sell, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I hate having all the nimrods in my house…
I thought for sure you were going to wrap this story up with goatgirl needing to make a claim on your homeowner’s insurance due to a broken arm from falling out of your tree. See, it COULD be worse! ;)
Hey, I have hemp shoes AND manners! (I suppose I’m special?)
I think I would throw a fit if a child behaved that way in my house. I don’t know, I was trained to be respectful about other people’s property, and if I wasn’t, well, my mother was a scary, scary woman. In fact, she still is a scary, scary woman… parents today are nut jobs.
What I want to know is how do these kind of people survive? I mean, really? How do they get through the day? Manage to assemble a whole outfit of clothing? Manage to have gas in the car on the very same day they want to use it? How do they perform complex tasks like grocery shopping? All that fitting in the cart of boxes and bottles and such.
How in fact did they get past the end of their own driveway? And that kid wandering through the house. I do not react well to totally undisciplined, unsupervised kids. You are a saint.
You would think natural selection would have weeded out the GoatPeople by now, wouldn’t you?
what the hell?? i think you’re a magnet for these kinds of people! first the lowballers, and now goatgirl and her parents?? wow. lucky you. ;)
Mir, you have my sympathies. Moving is never easy, but this sounds like a nightmare.
A number of years ago we had a little boy in our neighborhood who felt free to walk into people’s homes. I asked him numerous times to please knock until one early morning I just turned around, gave him the scary mom look and told him to march himself right back out the door, knock, and ask if we could play. I am now an empowered woman, at least with little boys. He never did it again.
Um, yeah. Oh so sorry about that horrific NIGHTMARE!! That three and a half hours must have been so darn long. Thank goodness that is over. What would have been perfect is if lowball family was there to help goat people with the moving of said furniture. And you are better than I and your good friend too, because I was either of you, and this might be because I live in California, who knows???, but I definitely would have said something to either the goat girl or goat girls’ parents about her activities within YOUR house. God bless you, Mir!!! May the rest of your packing week be far less uneventful. I can wish can’t I?
Reading this was so stressful Bossy was almost forced to drive to her all night grocery store for her own Sweet Potato Pie.
oh my. don’t you just hate other people’s chil’ren? LOL i don’t most of the time… but it’s really the parents who get on my last nerve. i always wonder about people who allow their chil’ren to act in such ways in other people’s homes.
The existence of the Goat people would suggest that natural selection is a fallacy after all, since Dawn brought it up. I befriended a Goatboy once. He was feral, too, but he had a special gift for getting people to do his bidding without their knowledge. That made me feel quite stupid after the hypnotism wore off, especially after that little near-electrocution incident.
Ha! People are nuts, are they not? Plus, that was so obnoxious. Clearly the whole thing was a ploy to then try to bargain you down. Yikes!
I once had someone come to buy a daybed, and AFTER he loaded it on the truck, offered me less. Actually, a friend was meeting him for me, and called me with the news.
So it was easy for me (since it wasn’t in person, and I was pissed, and no phyisical labor of MINE was involved…). I just said, hell no. Take it off the dang truck. After that, he paid the agreed-upon amount.
I am in awe that you managed to avoid screaming obscenities at that entire family. Good lord.
Aren’t you glad you are moving away from that place with all the crazy people?!