There’s been a lot going on since the last time I wrote about the things Amy and I didn’t know that we were getting ourselves into with this move. That is to say, there’s been too much going on. Like, far too much. Like, every possible thing that we thought could go wrong did go wrong, and then what we had planned in case it went wrong also went wrong, and then things we didn’t even know could go wrong, went wrong.
And then Raffy wanted in on all the chaos, so he got a cyst on his shoulder, and then popped it on our second day in the new apartment
So, here’s another round of “The Paper Boy lists out things no one ever tells you about moving your business and your life across the country.”
The moving company will play hacky sack with every single one of your belongings before they drop off your boxes.
In the last decade, Amy and I (and the business) have moved a total of twenty-five times. Each time, with our own two hands and feet and legs lifting and pulling and tugging and taping and cutting open boxes. Loading up cars. Asking friends for help. But we’re in our thirties now, we thought back in March. We’re adults, and adults get movers. Adults can also buy themselves dessert whenever they feel like it, and sometimes just have that for dinner — but that’s neither here nor there. Anyways. Being the adults that we are, we hired movers.
I mentioned last time that our moving company couldn’t understand anything that we were telling them about the business or our needs for the move as it pertained to the business. Apparently, that misunderstanding went all the way to the level of “this couple doesn’t care if we destroy almost every single one of their boxes, along with every piece of furniture they’ve decided to bring with them.”
The casualties list is as follows:
1 free standing shelf — We can excuse this one, because Amy didn’t really have a plan for it anyways.
3 Ikea Billy bookcases — So mangled by the time they arrived in New Hampshire that the driver didn’t realize the pile of crushed wood was supposed to be three shelves.
31 out of 44 boxes — These men (and their truck, hint hint) were batting .295 on safely delivering boxes. In baseball, that’s a great batting average. For a moving company that cost us thousands of dollars, that’s unacceptable. This is just like the Red Sox signing Pablo Sandoval all over again.
2 armoires — So long, shop furniture.
And probably every single other one of our 10,000 cards, if Amy hadn’t packed each box with what could probably be described as an excessive amount of care.
(Unrelated to the business, but after the move, our rice cooker now makes a weird groaning sound that it definitely didn’t before.)
Painters cost a LOT of money.
Like, a lot a lot. I don’t want to say specifically how much just because I don’t want you guys to know how cheap or not cheap we were being.
Addresses are meaningless.
71 State Route 101A. 71 New Hampshire Route 101A. 71 NH-101A. 71 Route 101A.
Any and all, and sometimes none, of these are the address to our new shop in Amherst, depending on who you ask. Amy had to reach out to Google so that, when you typed in our address, it would show you the right space on the right side of the street — we are not, in fact, located in the wood lot across the way.
Also, sometimes the Walgreens is a FedEx, and other times the FedEx is a FedEx.
Now, this can all be frustrating for getting deliveries for your business, but it becomes doubly annoying when your new apartment address is just as enigmatic and you also can’t get any of your new home furnishings. All of this leads to the next point…
Walgreens can hold a couch and mattress for you.
As mentioned above, a Walgreens can, sometimes, be a FedEx, and a FedEx, can also sometimes be a Walgreens (with a FedEx in it). If that sounds confusing to you, then maybe don’t move to Merrimack, NH.*
*It’s worth mentioning that, if you do move to Merrimack, NH, you’ll encounter incredibly dedicated employees at both FedEx-Walgreens-Fedex locations. I’m talking septuagenarians who volunteer to help carry your new mattress out to the car in the middle of flood-watch levels of rain because “I had to head out theyah anyways.”
It takes about three nights’ sleep before you get used to sleeping on the floor.
At least the floor was carpeted… except that that means you will end up with rug burn on your arms if you’re a specific kind of stomach-sleeper.
And despite all of this, having to take your dog to the emergency vet TWICE (he's fine!), plus everything else that you’re dealing with — some Karen will still email you repeatedly to complain that their confetti isn’t growing.
Listen, everyone — but especially [redacted] — we don’t know why the confetti seed paper that you planted perfectly in your well-watered pot that you have sitting on your kitchen windowsill in your one-story ranch in [redacted]. We don’t know. What the [redacted] does “well-watered” even mean?
We aren’t gardeners. Raffy sometimes digs in the dirt, but he’s only able to do that when other dogs have already started the hole. We. Don’t. Know. Gardening. We know paper (and based on certain meetings we’ve had lately, I hardly even know much about that...).
They’re wildflower seeds. They grow on a mound of dirt if you leave the dirt out long enough in the rain. Don’t come at us about it. No amount of aggressive follow-up emails with increasingly detailed descriptions of your setup will magically turn us into planting experts. We don’t know what you’re doing wrong… with the confetti. We might have some thoughts otherwise, though.