Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.
Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.
Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)
Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero
Thursday, April 30, 2020
So, this is my last night in my condo.
Thanks, pandemic, for dashing the dream of a "good-bye condo" party.
But, it's fitting that there's no last party, last toast, last "good night!" in my condo. This is not cause for celebration, so it's appropriate that I sit here alone with only boxes and a few dust bunnies for company. After all the time, sweat, tears and money I've poured into my condo the sad, the unfair bitter end is better spent on my own.
The condo I worked so hard to purchase, the home I sold my blood to pay the mortgage on during the recession, the condo I jubilantly refinanced for a crazy low interest rate a few years ago, the condo that is my nest egg, is being forcibly taken away from me by a parasitic practice known as deconversion.
For the uninitiated, deconversion is exactly what it sounds like: the opposite of a conversion. A deconversion is when a condo building deconverts into a rental, usually with one very wealthy person (or group of investors) with real estate dollar signs in their eyes swoops in, buys the building and 75% or 85% of the units in the building then forces the remaining orders to sell their units. Why, you ask? Because they then turn around and sell the building to a rental management company and walk away with a huge profit AND 75% - 85% of the HOA funds. It's legal in Illinois and a few other states. It's not fair, but it's legal.
The irony is not lost on me: I bought my condo because my apartment building went condo and I was forced to move. It was happening all over the city, so, I bought a condo. And now here we are: moving boxes and dust bunnies.
And no, they did not offer me a huge sum of money. They only have to offer fair market value. And because the housing market in Chicago only recently started to come back from the recession, the fair market value of my condo is barely more than I paid for it.
So.
Yeah.
It sucks.
There's a lot more to this, and over the few months I've gone through all the emotions on the roller coaster that is deconversion.
I try, very hard, to find some way to accept it, but it's still a struggle to ascertain how it can be legal to force someone to sell their home.
But it is legal. And not even a pandemic can stop it.
I'm not buying another condo. Not after this experience. Not in Chicago. Not until (if) the laws change and deconversions are outlawed.
A house is out of the question for many reasons, primary among them that I cannot afford a house. The pittance I'm being given for my condo is laughable in the context of housing cost.
So, I'm moving in with a friend for a while. A decision made a few weeks before the pandemic gained momentum in the US, and finalized the week before Illinois when on shut-down. If we knew then what we know now we probably would not have made the same decision. Pre-Covid we were both gone a lot. Work, travel, family stuff.
"No worries about the usual roommate stuff, we're both gone a lot, we'll hardly ever see each other," we said, innocent of the stay-home order that was about to go into place.
And now we're both working intense jobs from home. We both have Teams and Zoom meetings several times a day. This is going to be...interesting.
We'll share expenses and hopefully save a little money. The apartment is not awful but it's not great, either. My stuff is going into storage with only essentials going into the bedroom that will now be my live/work space. It's an interim roof over my head. I remind myself it's temporary but it's still depressing.
It feels like a giant leap backward because it is a giant leap backward.
So, the last night in my condo, my last night as a homeowner, is being spent on my own. Self-isolating during the pandemic my cozy little condo has been my comfortable sanctuary. Me in my place, rarely leaving my home, staying safe, staying home. After tonight I won't have a home, not a home-home. I'll have a bedroom. But not a home. I can still stay safe, but staying home won't be staying in my home anymore.
I'm trying to act like it's just another night, a failing attempt to avoid melancholy. Every time a good memory snakes around a corner I push it back with a bad memory. Ever-increasing HOA fees with nothing in return. My stoner neighbor's skunky weed stench. The huge amount of crime in my zip code. All good reasons to be happy to move.
We're prepping for an estate sale. And having a little work done to pretty it up for potential buyers. And in a few weeks there will be a for sale sign in front of my parents' house.
And then that's that.
I knew emotions would reach up and bite my mother when she least expects it. And I knew I'd have a few "moments."
It's just a house. But it's not just a house. My parents built it. They tilled the land. Even when we lived abroad my parents kept the house. One of my cousin stayed there much of the time we were away. It's been "home" for me all my life. So I knew I would have some emotional moments. But. It's too much house and too much yard for my mother. She needs a stress-free, trouble-free, safe place to live. And she found one. She has a lovely, large retirement apartment with a patio overlooking a private courtyard. She has friends who live there. Once the emotional letting go happens, I think she'll be happy there.
Meanwhile, there are weekends filled with numerous trips back and forth between home and the new place. I tell her we need to make the switch, call the new place "home." She can't do that, yet, and it's not exactly rolling off my tongue, either.
We've pretty much emptied the house of all the things we want. All that remains are the things we left behind for the estate sale. Our discarded items, some of them predate my parents' marriage, some are relatively new. My parents and their three children called it home. During my sister's divorce her three children called it home, and they all still refer to their grandparents' house as "home." A couple of my cousins spent extended stays there and refer to it as "home." Cats, a few stray dogs, hamsters, fish all called it home. There are trees, huge trees, that were taken as saplings from my grandparents' yard.
You get the picture.
Home.
Every time we pull out of the driveway some stupid home-related song enters my head. Madness' "Our House." Edward Sharpe "Home." CSN's "Our House." Simon & Garfunkle's "Homeward Bound."
The Nails' "The Things You Left Behind."
What? I'm talking about the general feeling of discarded stuff left behind. Not so much the heroin and garter belts. More the Canasta cards and records.
My mother and I sorted the difficult stuff last weekend. My parents' record collection. Their books. Stacks of insurance papers. During the many trips between the old and new homes the abandoned stuff looked more like sad remnants. Soon home will look like the Grinch was there when his heart was still two sizes too small. I started making mental notes about what my mother wanted at the new place and what was to be left for the estate sale. I repeated the list on the ride so I wouldn't forget. That's when Marc Campbell's raspy rap started beating in the back of my head. After a few trips The Things You Left Behind was updated for my family. I imagined The Nails performing this updated version and pretty soon I was giggling as I packed up stuff and discarded other stuff. Rock and roll can, and does, solve most emotional problems.
The Things We Left Behind
A set of Canasta cards, an old tin toy An 8-track tape by the Beach Boys. A vintage bottle of Bal a Versailles A poster of Iggy Pop Blah Blah Blah A third place ribbon from a relay race A Time Life series book about space A gas station workshirt covered in grime These are some of the things we left behind.
Cards and letters from people they knew Back before they had kids and things to do A cookbook signed by Liberace Wait, a Liberace cookbook? Is that worth anything? Five yellowed pages of gran’s scrawled recipes A Marine Corp jacket missing a sleeve A couple spools of Macramé twine These are some of the things we left behind
Two postcards in a cling film photo album Anyone have a rhyme for album? Soap on a rope, a book of clans, Springform and bundt cake pans Forgot how much we used to celebrate Birthdays and holidays we always ate cake A junior high school ID, that hair cut was ill-timed These are some of the things we left behind
A box of broken beads and rhinestones We always meant to restring those A bag of Mexican jumping beans that hatched Bought on vacation at a tourist trap A highschool class ring that isn’t ours Found under a seat in the old car A bottle shaped like swans with necks entwined These are some of the things we left behind
A Count Basie record set (We haven’t had that valued, yet.) A box of empty Pendaflex folders A telephone desk with a phonebook holder A spiral notebook with band names written in ball pen Containing second year French verbs conjugation A box made in third grade for school Valentines These are some of the things we left behind
A reading lamp, some Barbie dolls A few paintings that adorned the walls A first aid kit from a Scandinavian cruise Including “medication” no one used A cookie jar with the ill-fitting lid on Where there were always a few twenties hidden A pantry door marked with children’s heights in penciled lines These are some of the things we left behind
A set of canasta cards A third place ribbon A cookbook signed by Liberace Bundt pans Macramé twine Soap on a rope An 8-track tape High school class ring A Marine Corp jacket missing a sleeve A Valentine box Broken beads A cookie jar Money? Did we get the twenties? One last entry on the pantry wall Two words
Friday, January 28, 2005
Well that's it. It's all in the past. The old place is officially The Old Place. I moved the few remaining boxes of odd bits and cleaning supplies out of the old apartment last night. Then I dropped off the keys at the slumlord's office.
I spent a day at The Old Place last weekend, cleaning and throwing out stuff which didn't make the cut on moving day (someday, after the medication kicks in and I have a few drinks in me, I'll tell you about Moving Day. It's just all too fresh, too painful, too...too...too much everything right now) so all I had left were a few things which were too fragile or odd shaped to fit into a box or schlep on the bus or up to the corner to get a cab.
I didn't feel melancholy about leaving on moving day (someday, after the medication kicks in and I have a few drinks in me, I'll tell you about Moving Day...) I didn't feel melancholy on clean-up day. I didn't feel melancholy closing the door for the last time. I had my cry over leaving a few weeks ago, got it out of my system.
Or so I thought.
I thought wrong.
Because now, here I am, missing my old place.
It was really cold yesterday. And true to form, the old place was freezing. During the few minutes I was there, I couldn't wait to get out of there and get home to my warm and cozy compartment. Which I took as a good sign that I was over the old place. I didn't have much there, but all the items were odd shaped or heavy, so I had to make a few trips up and down those four flights of stairs. I don't miss dragging groceries, kitty litter and other odd/heavy stuff up or down four flights of stairs. Which I took as a good sign I was over the old place. For effect, one of the handles on a bag containing cleaning supplies broke while going down the first flight of stairs, causing bottles and sponges and you name it to spew out and roll down the stairs. Nice touch, Universe. Don't think I didn't realize what you were doing with that little message. The bare apartment, big as it was, was old. After a week in my gleaming new kitchen with full sized brand new appliances which actually work and Italian marble floor, my crappy old kitchen seemed even more shabby. The avocado refrigerator looked really pathetic and stupid without my adornments of photos and art and messages and recipes magneted all over it. And that oven. Urgh. The wood floor which was worn and stained and warped. The whole kitchen just made me wonder how the swut I dealt with that place as long as I did. Which I took as a good sign I was over the old place. The bathroom, I mean, well, I won't gross you out. That old, never rehabbed bathroom was disgusting. It smacked me in the face just how bad it is when I saw it without the benefit of my cute shower curtain and towels and Close Shave poster. Which I took as a good sign I was over the old place. When I took the last bag of trash out to the dumpster I almost stepped on a used condom. I used to instinctively “sense” these things and avoided them, almost not even noticing them. Gone one week and my spent condom reflex has already laxed. Which I took as a good sign I was over the old place. While I was waiting for Arthur to arrive, two bass thumping ghetto mobiles pulled up to the park, several gangsta boyz materialized from somewhere in the park, seriously, they just appeared on the snowy basketball court, it was empty and a second later there were two groups of boyz shuffling in their waist at the knees jeans to the bass booming cars. I then watched what I hope will be the last drug deal I ever see. (that’s what Neighborhood Watch means: You watch what goes on in the neighborhood because no one in any position of authority will do anything about it) Which I took as a good sign I was over the old place.
But.
Then.
For some reason, after dropping off the keys and settling into my cozy, mod, nice new compartment, I suddenly really miss the old place.
There are boxes and things everywhere in the new place. I doubt I'll ever get settled in here. It feels temporary here. Maybe that's why I'm not exactly rushing to unpack and organize. My old place was temporary. I never did anything to the old place, never "decorated" or bought any real furniture. It never "felt" like home.
But now that I'm here, in my new compartment, the old place felt a lot more like home than I realized. A lot of pivotal stuff happened to me while I lived there. A lot of memories there. You never know what you've got 'til it's gone.
Change is good. Everyone keeps telling me change is good, changes will be good for me. That I should have done this long ago. (And to be fair to the I told you so-ers, friends were begging me to move from the old 'hood for the past few years. Sooner or later I usually take advice.) I do agree that yes, change can be good. There are good things about the new place. It’s small, but it’s very nice. I’m not crazy about the new neighborhood, but, everyone in the ‘hood is super nice. Everyone in the building and on the streets says hello or good morning or “gosh what a storm, eh? January in Chicago, har har.” No one except the delinquent boyz in the park telling me what they were gonna’ do to my whi’ cunt, the 7-11 guys, a bartender or two and Po and Lani at the Thai place in my old neighborhood spoke to me. Everyone in the old ‘hood is too cool to say hello or too afraid to speak to a stranger. I am really enjoying walking to and from work, yes, even in January in Chicago. Especially in January in Chicago. It’s a great way to start and end the work day. The people who work in the Walgreens and groceries in the new 'hood not only speak English, but they look you in the eye, count your change back to you and, OMG, say thank you. I thought that sort of thing only happened in the suburbs. So yeah, the new place is better in a lot of ways. Okay. Most ways. Okay. Just about every way.
So why do I suddenly miss the old place?
The space? Yes.
The cute architectural details? Yes.
But I there’s a lot more to it than that.
I miss the memories.
I know, I know, no one can take those away from me. But there are little things which fade from memory. Even though I was only gone a week, when I returned a few small memories flooded back to me as if they were much more distant than just a week. I cleaned the bathroom mirror one last time and I remembered HWNMNBS leaving me a funny, sweet message written in lipstick and how difficult it was to clean it off after I left it there for a week. I turned off the pantry light and remembered my dad and I installing the new fixture. I cleaned out the fridge and I remembered the night I had a party and everyone brought beer and cheese because they didn't think I’d have beer and because they know I love cheese, and someone brought a super aged Stilton and didn’t tell me and weeks later the entire fridge smelled like spilled beer and Stilton. I pulled the blinds in the bedroom and remembered lazy Spring and Fall Sunday afternoons spent with the window open, a gentle breeze, sun streaming in filtered through the leaves of the trees outside the window, birds and squirrels chasing casting occasionally darting shadows, Furry Creature lolling beside me and the Sunday paper spread out in bed. I noticed a small drip of wax in the fireplace, left from a long ago candle from a long ago romantic evening. I know those memories don’t mean anything, really. But I’m going to miss them when they’re gone. And they will go. Without the daily reminders, they’ll fade and eventually leave. Heck, I lost my condom avoidance reflex in just a week. If I can lose that so quickly, surely the small memories will be lost, too.
Somehow, the new compartment doesn’t seem like the sort of place where memories are made. Which is probably the best thing for someone like me.
Attachments to people and places has caused a lot of heartache and pain in my life.
My new mod, sleek sterile compartment is symbolic of the next phase of my life. Just another single, never married, no children, professional woman in a big city, living in a small compartment because that’s all she can afford and moreover, because that’s all she needs. No husband, no kids, none of their stuff, few friends visit because they’re all married and busy with children. Nope. Don’t need a lot of space. Nothing to see here, folks, just a pathetic single woman who still rents and has a cat. You know the story.
Ah ha. That’s it. That’s what I miss.
The hope I had when I lived in my old life in my old apartment. The new compartment says: "That's it. I tried. I failed. My friends have all moved away to move on with their lives. I'm getting older. I only need a small place in a safe neighborhood. After all, it's just me and my cat."
Oh yeah. Change is good. Change is really swutting good.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005 Local Woman to Receive Internet Service in Her Home
It was with rapt anticipation that Ms. Tricia McMillian arrived home Monday night. This was the night her internet service provider (ISP) told her she would have DSL service.
"I moved house 3.03 miles last week," Ms. McMillian explained, "and even though I spent a lot of time making arrangements for my internet service to move with me, well, there were issues."
Ms. McMillian is like many internet users. She uses her home internet connection for business and personal use.
"I'm a designer, so there are a lot of times I can work at home rather than stay late in the office. I just email my work files between home and the office," Ms. McMillian, Trillian, continues, "and a lot of times creative inspiration hits in the middle of the night or on weekends. My brain doesn't work 9 to 5. So my internet connectivity is a crucial component of my tool box. Also, my mother is ill and the internet helps me keep in contact with my parents, the rest of my family and research her various medical issues. Being offline for even a day could be serious for me right now. I don't like that my life has evolved to this point of internet dependency, but on the other hand, I cringe thinking about what my life would be like without the internet."
Poignant words.
Ms. McMillian's ISP did not meet their promised connectivity date. The phone company's move transition plan went off without a hitch. Even the US Postal Service was able to understand she had moved and delivered her mail to her new address. But her ISP fell far short of the mark. A mark they set, a plan they implemented.
When Ms. McMillian attempted to go online late on the night of her move, she had no service.
"I was tired anyway, but I wanted to dash off a quick email to family telling them I was safely at the new place. It was a long and difficult move, family and friends tried to reach me all day and evening but had difficulty because I was involved with the movers and various problems which arose with the move. I was disappointed I didn't have internet service, but too tired to care about it that night."
The following morning, Trillian again attempted to go online, but again, she had no service. That's when she began calling her ISP for assistance. She was met with conflicting claims by customer service agents and was told there was no record of her move request. When she recited the service request number to the customer service agents, she was told it was not a valid number. Furthermore, the phone number she had been given to ring for service for her "special move issues" was not in service.
"I was furious. A day I can understand. No big deal. But to find out they had done nothing in preparation for the move really annoyed and bothered me. I persisted and climbed higher up the chain of command. I finally got a technical advisor who 'found' my case notes and figured out what the problems were. Naturally they blamed the phone company. So I rang the phone company. Naturally, the phone company said they had done everything they were supposed to do. Which I actually believe because, well, my phone service worked just fine. So there I was, stuck in the middle, with no internet. I had taken a few days off work to settle into the new place, but had some work to do, email to check, and my mother's health issues," Trillian sniffles and wipes away a tear, "It was horrible, just horrible. I was reduced to going to Coughupalottabucks so I could go online. My ISP essentially made me pay insane amounts of money for tea and cider so that I could use Coughupalottabucks' internet service. Coughupalottabucks! Is my ISP going to refund me that money, that blood money? No! Of course they're not. They don't care."
Trillian's calls to her ISP were met with increasing insensitivity and apathy. One customer service agent told her she would have service in 10 days and that she was "lucky" to have service moved "that quickly."
"I couldn't believe it. The phone company and the swutting US Postal Service managed to grasp the concept of moving and transferred my information seamlessly. Yet my ISP, allegedly one of the leaders in technology and service, couldn't deliver what they promised and had the cheek to be rude to me. The swutting US Postal Service could figure it out for crying out loud!"
"I returned to work and I had to resort to staying late and using my company's network for some personal emails and to look up a few medical procedures for my mum, look up information on feline psychoses, when and how to sue a moving company, how to type with stitches in your knuckle, dealing with a slumlord who won't return phone calls, you know, the usual stuff. I'm not proud of this, I don't like to use my company's network for personal stuff. Our tech guys are not the most reputable people, they're bored and spend their days monitoring what we're doing online, even reading email sometimes. It's a huge privacy problem, but you know, I mean, it's work and we shouldn't be doing personal stuff there anyway, so none of us complain," Trillian confides. "Then I'd go home, check to see if I had service, and then spend hours, yes, HOURS on the phone with customer support at my ISP. Every night I got a different set of excuses, but ultimately, I didn't have service."
Finally, Ms. McMillian issued an ultimatum to her ISP. "I hate ultimatums. I don't issue them. I'm just not like that. But this is what they made me do. They forced me to stoop to a level which I do not stoop. I told them if I didn't have service Monday night, I wanted out of my contract with them because they were not delivering their end of the deal."
She then hung up on them.
"Yeah. I know. I'm not proud of that, either." Trillian quietly admits. "But what was I supposed to do? How long was I supposed to go on like that? There's only so much a person can take."
Then, The Storm hit.
When a blizzard hit Saturday, Trillian was certain that would be the next excuse, the next barrier to service. And sure enough, Monday night, when she arrived home from work, she had no internet service.
"I made my nightly call to my ISP, and was told because of the blizzard the crew who had to 'check my line' were running late, but that I should have service sometime that night." Trillian mimics, "I wasn't holding my breath."
But just before retiring for the evening, Ms. McMillian attempted to go online one more time. "My browser sprang to life. I couldn't believe my eyes. Internet. Dear, sweet, internet. It was like discovering fire. Of course, I couldn't think of one site I wanted to go to and wasn't in the mood to send email, but the mere fact that I could if I wanted or needed to was very reassuring."
Ms. McMillian is also a "blogger" (online journals, web logs) who had been posting sporadically from Coughupalottabucks. "I have some really great friends who read my blog. They knew I was going through a difficult move and many of them were concerned when I didn't post for a few days. I know. They're really swell people. I can't thank them enough for all their kind wishes and support."
When asked if she would publicly embarrass and ridicule her ISP via her blog, she said, "I'm sure it will be mentioned. Not by name, though, because, well, I mean, well, I'm not sure why, really..."
Ms. McMillian's blog can be found at www.triciamcmillian.blogspot.com Her ISP can be found at www.earthlink.net.
Friday, January 21, 2005
M-Day: Over.
Rations: Gone.
Injuries: One broken toe; lacerated finger (four stitches); numerous bruises; numerous claw shaped scratches
Cat: Will not leave darkest corner of closet and makes never before heard low growling noises which can alternately be described as the shocking finale of “When Animals Attack” or disgruntled mumbling. (See above, Injuries)
Finance: Way over budget. Um, if you're not going to eat that parsley garnish, could I um, have it?
Survivor: Barely a survivor. Exhausted. Frustrated. Forlorn. Fretting. (See above, Finance) But still breathing.
The biggest misnomer in moving is “Moving Day.” It is not A day. It is many, many, many days. You might think the days leading up to the actual relocation of possessions are more difficult than the days after a move.
Wrong.
Take it from one who wore the same clothes, and I mean the same clothes, everything the same, for three days, had sporadic phone service and no internet after the actual relocation, the days after the relocation of possessions are far worse than the days leading up to The Move.
I’m pretty tough for a girl. I am completely able to roll with a situation and cast aside girlish needs. If I don’t have to, you know, be presentable, I can manage with a toothbrush, toothpaste, a hair brush and some soap.
So I wasn’t concerned about anything other than getting everything relocated and my cat safely moved.
And really, in the final analysis that is all that matters.
But.
Moving is a nightmare.
No matter how organized (I was), how prepared (I was), how excited about the new place you are (I wasn’t), you have to rely on other people to handle your Earthly life. You hand over everything you own, including your Box of Essentials to complete strangers and depend on them to transport your life to your new home.
My movers were great. I guess. I mean. Yes. They were super nice and super experienced and super careful and super organized and super hard working.
But.
My Box of Essentials which was the last box loaded and allegedly the first box unloaded, was buried under a mountain of book boxes until yesterday afternoon.
My Box of Essentials contained fresh underwear, t-shirts and socks for three days, telephone, shampoo, towels, shower curtain/rings, sheets, scissors, and toilet paper.
But worse than not being able to find my Box of Essentials was not being able to find my Box of Important Stuff.
My Box of Important Stuff was plainly marked, “Box of Important Stuff” and had been moved by myself and a friend the day prior to the actual the move. When we arrived at the new place, the movers had very stern instructions that this box was not to be touched much less moved.
But then something bad happened. A long horrible story involving the five hours later than expected departure from my old place and my cat. Which separated me from the movers and my things for a period of 45 minutes at the initial move-in at the new place.
And the Box of Essentials was buried under a bunch of boxes of books. And the Box of Important Stuff was placed somewhere “safe” but could not be located when I showed up at the new place.
Which upset me. For a lot of really deep emotional reasons.
Because I was so careful about it. Because these are the few things I truly care about and would run into a burning building to retrieve*. Because I packed The Box of Important Stuff with the things which would devastate me to lose. The one box I had to open, or at least see, upon arrival at the new place. The things I have to know where they are or I can't sleep.
So not being able to find that box really swutting upset me.
A lot.
Even more than not being able to locate the Box of Essentials, discovering The Box of Important Stuff had been moved and could not be found was the straw that broke the camel’s emotionally thick exterior.
"Freaking out" would be an apt term.
I am not one prone to freaking out.
But there I was. Freaking out.
If I could have just seen that one box everything would have been okay.
But the movers couldn’t locate it. They “knew” it was “in there somewhere,” one remembered “putting it someplace safe” when they brought in the bed, the closet, he thought. But then other boxes were unloaded, space and time were tight, and, well, no visible Box of Important Stuff.
I just wanted my Box of Important Stuff. That's all. I didn't care about any of the other stuff.
I wanted my file containing my Important Papers. I wanted my folder with all the warranties and instruction books for my stuff which requires warranties and instruction books. I wanted my mum's bridal veil and I wanted it right then. I wanted my pretty rock from Ben Nevis. And if I didn't get my bear no one in three zip codes would be sleeping that night.
This is what moving does to a person. I don't go around thinking about these things on a daily basis. I know where they are, I am in control of their fate and I'm emotionally mature and balanced about them. But knowing I couldn’t go to the closet or the shelf and see them or touch them, that their fate was out of my control, I was disoriented and distraught.
I know “they're just things so shut up.” I know that. I know they don't matter to anyone but me. I know they don't really matter to me.
I guess.
No.
Wait.
Obviously they do. Obviously this little collection of things matters to me a lot.
Obviously I feel connected to and responsible for them. Obviously I have a long way to go on my journey to enlightenment. Obviously some of my possessions own me.
Okay, so I’m not a monk. I have stuff. I have emotional ties to some of my stuff. Species Human for $500, please, Alex.
The Freaking Out Incident of '05 will be making the rounds at moving companies throughout the country. If you move in the next ten years, you’ll probably be told the story by your movers.
This is what they’ll say:
“Nah, don’t worry, you’re not too emotional. Moving is stressful. You’re fine. I heard about this one woman who got so upset because her movers moved a box she told them not to touch that she threatened to post their photographs on the internet with a caption saying “Thief, Loser and Scoundrel” and then screamed, collapsed in the corridor of her new building and cried. You know? That choking, gasping, snot dripping kind of crying? Yeah, I heard it was really bad. The security people saw her on their monitor, you know, from the corridor security camera, and came running because they thought she was being attacked or something, because one of the movers was trying to calm her down and she was flailing her arms and I guess it looked bad on the security monitor, you know, I mean, he was trying to like calm her down, but it looked like something else, and she was carrying on, so you know, the security guys thought there was a (air quote) situation.(unair quote) So they get there and they’re all like Starsky and Hutch, ‘Get away from her!’ and she’s all still sobbing and snotty and choking and they’re all like, ‘It’s okay, we’ll handle it, are you hurt?’ and the mover was like, ‘No man, I didn’t touch her, we moved a box she told us not to touch and she got all mad and then this happened! I swear, man, I swear, I was only trying to help her!’ and the security guy was like, ‘Is that true?’ and she was like, ‘uh huh, but it’s my Box of Important Stuff and this move has taken almost 10 hours and I only moved 3.03 miles and my cat’s upset and my mum’s sick (sob) and HWNMNBS and (choke) I (choke) just (choke) miss (choke) him (choke) so (choke) muucchhhhh (snork) and (snork) MY STUFFFFFFFFFFFF’ and the security guys were all like, ‘You moved a box she told you not to touch?!’ and the mover guy was like, ‘We had to move it to get the bed in...’ and the security guys were like, ‘You should have had her move it!’ and the mover guy was like, ‘She wasn’t here!’ and the security guys were all like on his case, and then the other mover guy came up, and the security guys asked him a bunch of questions about the other mover, like if he was bonded and what was their license number and all this security rent-a-cop stuff, and the movers were all like, ‘Man, we’re professionals, we’ve been doing this for years, call our boss! She’s just crazy. Moving is stressful but she’s insane’ and the security guys were all like, ‘Moving is really stressful, you guys should know that.’ So the movers have their client on the floor of the corridor of the building like all wailing and stuff and the security guys getting on their case about being kinder and gentler and like totally not trusting them, so one of the security guys wouldn’t leave until the movers left, and he’s all like trying to calm down the woman, so he goes ‘Come on, let’s find that box’ to the woman so they systematically moved all the boxes until they found the box. So no, you’re not too emotional. You could be a lot worse. You could be like that woman.”
* Things I would run into a burning building to retrieve: My cat or any other animal, even ones I don't know, yes, really. A child, mine or someone else's. Yes, really. Another person if they needed help and I could be of honest help to them. My passport. The box of Special Photographs. Mum's bridal veil. A very pretty rock from a trek on Ben Nevis. (okay, this would survive a fire, but as long as I was in a burning building getting stuff, I'd grab it) My first edition signed to me personally by Roald Dahl copy of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and third edition signed to be personally by Roald Dahl James and the Giant Peach, and a Paddington Bear who has seen better days and looks to have not been looked after. My gran's button hook she used on her shoes (those billion buttoned bootie things from way back) when she was young and swingin' about in her victorian garb, one small and two large paintings.
Monday, January 17, 2005
Right. So. Today's the first day of the rest of my life.
Or whatever.
It's M-Day.
Yes. Martin Luther King Day.
And Moving Day.
I checked my horoscope, all the horoscope sites the Google God gave me had differing opinions of what today will bring, but none of them said, "Don't move house today," or "Don't bother," or "Redrum," so you know, I guess I'll proceed as planned. In spite of the run of bad superstition. But I checked my horoscope, so that should be enough unsuperstitioning, right? The mere fact that I checked my horoscope is huge, so the forces of bad luck should be very surprised with me, if not a little afraid. One of my horoscopes said I was a force to be reckoned with, and a few others said I might be moody today. Well duh. How does that differ from any other day? Swut. I get better advice from fortune cookies.
Right. So.
Provisions: Gone.
Life: Packed into boxes.
Cat: Eying me suspiciously. He'll be under the bed soon. He knows. They always know.
Me: Nonplussed. Well. A little anxious about the cat situation. But other than that, nonplussed. Moving. Whatever. If it's broken, lost or damaged, well, that's just one less thing I have to deal with in the new compartment.
Friday, January 14, 2005
Lastly..
Today was a milestone day in the LIfe(?) of Trillian.
I went through the regular motions of my regular days.
And did a lot of things for the last time.
I made my morning Blueline El commute for the last time. I wasn't sure what the protocol is for your last el commute. Do you say something, you know, "good-bye" to the people you see almost every day on the platform? Seems a little weird since we never, ever talk to each other.
"I know none of us ever talk, even though we see each other every day, so this is a little awkward. Eww Gross Girl, Sportz Guyz, Latino Sisters, Obnoxious, Pushy Muppetlike Man, we've been through so much together. Beginning our days together...most days yours were the first human faces I saw. Remember that time, back when had that really bad rain storm and the sewers flooded and they had to run a shop vac in the station and we had to step over swut knows what to get up to the platform? Yeah, Eww Gross Girl, I think that's when your face froze in that position. What about the time they were filming some Bruce Willis movie and the trains were all screwed up and we had to take a bus two stops? Oh, oh, and remember the time they were working on the tracks and the train came rolling up from underground and almost hit that worker guy on the track? Yeah. Good times. See, here's the thing. I'm moving out of the neighborhood. I know, I know, I thought I was going to end up a fixture here, too. But nope! I'm gone. No more Blueline commuting for me. So long, suckers, have a nice ride, I'm a walk to worker now. Enjoy that new rate hike Our Benevolent Leader and Supreme Tax Overlord Daley is going to throw your way in the coming months. Watch out for yourselves, don't get mugged, assaulted, pick pocketed or raped, while your commuting on the el, okay?"
Yeah. Seemed a little not right to me, too. So I didn't say anything. I just got on the train, glared at Eww Gross Girl for spreading out all over two seats and reading her Wall Street Journal as if she were on her living room couch, declined the offer of a seat from one of the Sportz Guyz, rode my few stops and went to work.
So caught up in my routine, was I, that I didn't think about this being my last commute again until after I was off the train and out of the station on my way to the office. "Ooops, forgot to give a wistful look back as I detrained and left the platform. Oh well. That's over. Check Blueline Commuter off my list of characteristics.
I didn't take the train home tonight, so that's it. No more Blueline commutes. Oh sure, I'll still take the train to O'Hare now and then. I wonder how it will feel to emerge from the subway portion of the line, the place where I pull out of my reverie and prepare to get off the train at my stop, when it's no longer my stop. When I just roll by on my way to O'Hare without Damen meaning anything other than just a stop on the way.
I wonder what it will feel to be looked at with disdain and contempt by the regular commuters when I board with my suitcase, obviously not a regular commuter, obviously an interloper using the train to get to O'Hare. Not a "regular" rider.
Coming home from O'Hare, I wonder if I'll ever forget I don't live at Damen anymore and exit the train too early. It's been such a part of me, such a part of my travel routine, I can't trust myself to not exit at Damen and trek the block to my apartment.
My apartment that isn't mine anymore.
The melancholy "what am I doing, why am I moving" has hit. I didn't think it was going to, but today it did.
Ironically, as I schlepped four flights of stairs to the dark, scary laundry room, the melancholy, "I'm going to miss this place," hit me.
I'm really, really, really, really glad to never have to schlepp laundry down four flights of stairs again. I'm really glad to not have to use the crappy washers which at best reach warm water temperature (usually ice cold is the temp, regardless of where you set the gauge) anymore. Ditto the dryers which also have only one temperature setting: Scald and Shrink. I wonder if people will be jerks with the lint traps in my new building. Maybe they have a lint trap overseer there. Maybe the lint traps will always be magically lint free.
I stopped by the new place, keys and all that. I took a look at my Lake view. It's better than I remembered it. Smaller than I remembered it, too. (The apartment, not the Lake.) The apartment is definitely a compartment. My new compartment. Furry Creature and I are going to be real close. Good thing we get along so well.
But. You know. It's nice. It was warm and comfy. In contrast to the frost caked windows in the old place.
The old place.
I haven't even moved, but it's already The Old Place.
Wow.
Guess I've made the leap.
I stopped at my favorite local place for my favorite falafel in the world. "Hey, Spice Girl!" the order prep guy yelled at me when I walked in. "Cold night, you need something to keep you warm! I make extra spicy?" he asked as he began preparing my falafel sandwich without even asking my order.
"Of course extra spicy!" I proclaimed in a you silly goose tone.
"Spice Girl!" he enthused.
I am known as Spice Girl at this establishment. I think any girl who requests "hot" or "spicy" when they place an order is dubbed "Spice Girl." I am under no illusions that I am the only Spice Girl. But. Still.
"Cold night! Hot soup?!" he implored.
"Yeah, of course, sounds good." he ladled the lentil soup into a huge container and swirled some hot liquid spice into it. After all, I AM Spice Girl. He knows the drill. This is enough lentil soup for a family of six. I paid for an order. An. Singular. One person. Small order.
I want to think I'll still frequent this place, and other places in the neighborhood, but I know how it is. It's only 3.03 miles, but I'll get busy, I'll find new places in my new neighborhood, time will pass, and the next thing you know, it will have been months, maybe even a year since I was in the old 'hood. I keep saying, "I'm still going to hang out here, I'm just going to live a few miles East." But I know I probably won't.
Maybe at first.
But probably not.
My Thai place, my pubs, my 7-11, my ghetto grocery...they won't be mine anymore. I'll be a tourist in the old 'hood. Like the commuters on the train, the locals will look at me with disdain and contempt because I'll be interloping on their turf.
Arthur, Bone and I went to my Thai place last night. We sat at our regular table. The food tasted really good. I'm sure it's the same principle as when you get your hair cut or go to the doctor: The morning you have your long awaited appointment, your hair cooperates and looks fabulous or you are feeling all better. Not that my Thai place has bad food, it just tasted extra good last night.
Po, as he has said for the last year, "So gwad you wawk in now! No more dewivewy." pantomiming walking on crutches. He brought my favorite plum wine to the table without me ordering it. I wonder if there will be a good Thai place in the new neighborhood. I wonder if they'll have this plum wine.
I've got a busy weekend. Final packing. The movers show up Monday morning. I intend to be ready for them Sunday afternoon. I won't be out and about in the 'hood. I won't have time for a walk around the 'hood, popping into the places I shop and eat to say good-bye. Not that I would. I don't think too many of these people care if I'm here or not. But I like to think they'll wonder what happened to me. I like to think when I do come back to visit, after a long absence, they'll say, "Where've you been?! We've missed you!" But I doubt they will. I'm not that important. Po and Lani will probably wonder what the swut happened to Miss Twiwian. They kept me alive with dewivewy when I was in bed with the broken ankle. Which is why I couldn't say "good-bye" to them. These are nice people in my 'hood. These are true neighbors.
Better for us to all delude ourselves into thinking the soon to be three mile distance between us won't mean anything.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Moving sucks, I am being told over and over by people in the know.
The thing is, it's never sucked for me until this move. I won't say I looked forward to past moves, but past moves happened because I was moving to another/better job, better apartment, another city to be with a boyfriend, go to universities...all exciting things associated with moving. This time, it's 3.03 miles away to a part of town which I never go much less want to live in, to a smaller box of an apartment.
I'm packing my stuff in boxes, moving to a building which is essentially a multistory box, into a compartment of that box. Yes. My new apartment isn't actually an apartment, it's a compartment. Of a big box. I'll move my boxes into my compartment, probably won't unpack most of them for a while, so it will be boxes in a box in a big box.
Which is why I've been in my current place as long as I have. Crappy as it is, it's huge and cute and convenient and basically, a nice little home. Oh sure, the muggings*, rapes**, break-ins, arson, gangs, drugs, prostitutes***, delinquent kids in the park****, drunk and rowdy people spilling loudly onto the neighborhood at closing time have all been a bit of a nuisance...but you know, it's home.
It comes down to the same basic issue: This job, this apartment, this city, were all temporary. I moved here because I had to land somewhere in the US, and I had a few friends here, and I knew this one guy here, and knew I could get a job and live fairly cheaply until I formed a plan for my next real move. Ahem. That plan got sidetracked by a certain man whose name must not be spoken.
Since that break-up I've been trying to get back to where I was before him, trying to sort out what it was I was meant to be doing with my life. Problem is, the plans He and I had were more appealing than any I'd had before (or since). I could go ahead without him, of course, but unfortunately, those plans were appealing and desirable because of him and us. I wanted to do those things with him. For us. We were a team. Those plans were the team goals. There is no I in team. Those plans, that life, is impossible, not even desirable without him.
The irony and joke is that this temporary gig (and apartment, and city) is the most permanent one I've ever had.
Which of course gets all drummed up with a move. Moving forces you to look at your life, your possessions, how long you've been there, where you're moving, why...
It's not just throwing stuff in boxes and schlepping them to a new place. Even though that is the new battle cry at my place, "I don't care, just get it in a box, I'll sort it when I get to the new place!" can be heard at least twice hourly. It's making a change, maybe long overdue, maybe not, and change can be good.
I like change. But I don't like the emotional wellspring which results from change.
I stayed in my current apartment because the future was looming with HWNMNBS, we chose and international relationship, so we had to accept the wait and frustrations that come with that territory. Why move? I thought, when I'll just be moving again, with him, hopefully soon. Our plan, my plan, was to leave this apartment and move to our home. He often shared a humorous but happy little vision he had of me, sitting amid packed boxes with Furry Creature, moving to be with him. This vision made him happy, symbolized the end of our single lives and me being emancipated from a temporary apartment and job and life because of him and us. Yes, it's a sort of Knight in Shining Armor Rescue fantasy, the type which I am strongly opposed, but, it made him feel good. It made him feel happy, that he and I were moving forward, that he was making me happy, that because of him (and us) I was leaving all this temporary foolishness behind me.
I lost him, I lost our home, I lost the goals, I lost my future. I've been trying to make my own future, trying rid myself of him, but mostly, trying to rid myself of the idea that somehow, some way, it'll all work out, with or without him. Preferably with. That life, those goals, normal and real and simple as they are, are out of reach for the likes of me. I've been trying to move forward, I really have, but knowing he's such a big part of me, the future we planned was the one I wanted most, has made forward progress difficult. Knowing that when I leave this place, it won't be to be with him in our home. I'm not saying that's the main reason I haven't moved, or the reason for this move, but it's certainly been in the back of my consciousness. Hence Miss Havisham and that bit of painful symbolism.
Now that I am finally leaving this apartment and moving to my new compartment, this is all brought into sharp focus for me. This is it. The final Truth I Have to Face that there is no I in HWNMNBS. I am not leaving this apartment for our home, or to be with him. I'm sitting in that room, amid boxes with Furry Creature, but HWNMNBS not waiting for me at the other end. We're not moving forward together, we're moving much further apart. My new compartment is only 3.03 miles from my old apartment. But we're moving a lot more than 3.03 miles away from each other. This is it. The end of that blissful little vision he shared with me.
Which I know is a good thing. And you're all sitting there thinking, "Finally." But it hurts, okay? It really hurts. I've given in and given up. And that hurts. It makes me miss him. It makes me feel like a huge failure. Here I am again, moving not to a home, but a small compartment. Just another address my friends and family will have to learn. I am back to where I was before I met him, but I'm older and wiser and carrying a new set of baggage and shouldn't be here. It's huge steps backward. Change is good? Yeah. Sure. It is. Change is good. But it's also painful.
*and still they continue
**one in my alley recently, a woman pulled into her garage after work, went to pull in the trash cans and Bam! he got her.
***going to miss stepping over spent condoms on the sidewalks and in the park, you know, where children play.
**** I'll miss them the most. It just won't be the same, going home after work and not having racial remarks thrown at me by teenaged boys. I might find I miss being called a why' bitch, a why' ho, a cunt ho, a bitch ho, or any other kind of ho. The day I was told, by what appeared to be a 15 year old boy, and I'm translating the Ebonics here, that he planned to rip my white cunt open til it bled, was certainly one of the highlights of living in my cool, trendy, million dollar condo neighborhood. The pink pussy remarks are always appreciated, too. "Da why' ho, rip her pink pussy into, she be like all beggin fo more an shi." I'd really like Jesse Jackson to explain to me why it's okay and even necessary for me to have my race held up and ridiculed, for me to be persecuted and threatened, to have MY civil liberties violated just because I walk down MY street, where PAY to live by drug dealing, rude, violent, potty mouthed kids (who do not even live on my street). Can you even guess at how much jail time I'd get if I made similar racial/gender/sexual/violent remarks to one of these darling children? Not that I would, I wouldn't, that's the difference, it would never in a million years occur to me to say anything remotely racial/sexual/gender degrading/violent to anyone. Thoughts like that are simply not part of my consciousness. Well. They weren't until I moved here and had my near daily verbal assault from the fine young men hanging around the park. Oh! The things I've learned! It will also be interesting to hear people speaking English in my new neighborhood. You know, in Chicago. US. Where the official language is, I think, English. I'm not certain, because in my neighborhood I hear mainly Spanish, Ebonics and Polish. Yes. I embrace all cultures and love that we're all here from somewhere else. But. If we cannot communicate with each other, we might as well have just stayed in our mother countries. What's the point of living next door to someone from a totally different culture, with whom you could become friends and learn so much about a different culture, if they cannot or refuse to speak a language other than their native tongue? Yeah. That's been bothering me a lot lately. And, note to girls in the Walgreen's? . Just because I'm white, never, ever assume I don't understand what you're saying. I know exactly what you said about the lady in line in front of me. It was a really horrible thing for you to say in any language, and I did, in fact, speak to your manager about it. She was at least 75 years old and clearly not very well off for crying out loud, those coupons and her change are probably the only way she could afford to buy the off brand tissues and bars of soap. How dare you call her stupid and slow and wasting time and holding up the line? How DARE you? Yes, sweetheart, I understood your Spanish tirade perfectly. You know, I heard jobs are sort of difficult to get in Mexico, long days, hard work, low pay...I don't know, it just seems like you'd be a little more grateful for what you've got, and a little more respectful to your customers who essentially pay your salary. But you know. Whatever. You have to wear a smock with your name on it to work. I don't. Neither does that lady you went off on in Spanish. So you know, I guess really we should be pitying you and your stupid smock with your name on it job. Funny, though, your store manager didn't seem to feel that way. He was not very pleased to hear that you were speaking Spanish at all, let alone yelling at little old lady customers in Spanish.
Friday, January 07, 2005 Move Survivor Countdown
11 Days to M-Day
Rations Consumed: 1/2 cup-ish Sante Fe Corn Chowder, 1 cube Coastal cheese, tablespoon of peanut butter, 1/2 bottle of red wine.
Kitchen: Entirely packed.
Living Room: Well...almost packed.
Living Room Closet: 1/2 packed.
Bedroom: 3/4 packed.
Bedroom Closet: Packed.
Dining Room: Not packed.
Office: Not packed.
Pantry: Not packed.
Hall Closet: Not packed.
Cat: Condition of stress worsening. Won't come out of bedroom closet.
Survivor's Mental Health: Lagging.
The good thing about moving is that it's a good way to get rid of stuff. Not just stuff stuff, but the stuff of emotional baggage. Maybe you've been hanging onto old jeans in a size you will never, ever wear again but cling to hopes that you will. Maybe you've got a box (or boxes) of stuff from an old relationship. Maybe you've got sports equipment/hobby materials you haven't used in years. Maybe you've got a lot of books you don't particularly like. Maybe you've got gifts people have given you, things you don't really like, but they were gifts, well intended gifts, and you're a nice, gracious, thoughtful person so you kept the gifts on display or within easy reach. Maybe you've just got stuff, stuff you don't even realize you have taking up space in your life.
Moving is the perfect time/excuse to rid yourself of these items. Or renew/re-evaluate your relationship with them.
Discovered/Found:
1 Box of clothes from those days. (Swut I was sick. Why'd I keep these? I honestly thought I'd gotten rid of all evidence of those days. Honest. I truly did not know I still had these... Shame they're so small, some of them have extra long length. Sigh...)
3 pair of shoes thought to have been casualties of a long ago break-up, left behind in the "stay over" drawer. (I wonder if I'll find the money he owes me, too...Sigh.)
1 (small) box of misc. artwork from aforementioned ex boyfriend, including: "You're a Doll" postcard featuring his artwork doctoring/vixening up the Barbie photo; a small expressionistic painting of me; a small Modigliani inspired painting of me; numerous bar napkin sketches of various subjects; several paintings of flowers ("...too poor to buy the real thing and these will last longer..." he used to tell me, which still makes me smile); a photo of his living room walls painted with murals for me(a Valentine's Day "gift"); a photo of the back alley wall of the bar where he worked with an enormous graffited "(his name) + Trillian =(heart)4 Ever" (a birthday "gift" to me); a postcard from very far away I received three months after he disappeared without a trace or good-bye, telling me he was having a blast, missed me and hoped I have a nice life. (Okay, so he was far from perfect, but he was a swutting amazing artist and swutting funny, too. And yes, I kept some of the art and will move it to store in the dark corner of a closet in the new place because it's funny and clever and really good art and upset as I was over the disappearance/break-up I have never looked back in anger or regret.)
1 Holy Bible (I have no swutting idea where this came from or why it was in the back of my living room closet, I know it's not mine, I do have a bible, two actually, I certainly don't hide them in the back dark corner of my living room closet, and I certainly would not have a bible with a bright red leatherette cover. Or. Well. Apparently I do. Because you can't throw out a Bible, right? I mean, I can't. I'm sure that's got to be a sin or at least really bad karma. I'm blasphemous and a doubter and, well, not exactly the most religious person, but there's no way I can feel "okay" about throwing out a Bible, even one which isn't mine and has a red leatherette cover.)
1 blanket thought to have been left at a concert venue.
1 really good vegan cookbook. (I totally forgot about this cookbook, it's a good one. I really cannot wait for my new improved kitchen. And food.)
A bunch of plastic food containers which have seen better days and should have been thrown away years ago.
A basket with a very artful little pumpkins woven into it. (This is cute, but it's got to go. One of those tough calls - I'll probably regret it, but, why move it and store it knowing I will never use it?)
2 Batman/Catwoman cups.
A swutting lot of coffee cups. (I don't drink coffee, where'd these come from and why do I have them?)
A small jewelry box containing: 4 pair of earrings (two pair of which are "real" jewelry), two necklaces, three bracelets, one very odd brooch missing a set, a Sylvester the Cat watch, a "real" watch which never kept accurate time, and an amber ring. (How could I not miss this stuff all these years? How could I not wonder where those earrings were?)
You will note, as yet, I have not unearthed any HWNMNBS related items because I did a very thorough job of ridding myself of all things HWNMNBS related last Fall. Brave Trillian. Wise Trillian. Not opening unhealed wounds Trillian. Moving on to a new place and leaving all memories of HWNMNBS and this place behind. HWNMNBS will not infect Trillian's new home. Trillian has vowed to make her new home a HWNMNBS-free zone.
Wednesday, January 05, 2005 Reality Wednesday Survivor: The Move
One woman will endeavor to move house three miles across town.
For three weeks she will manage with: A can opener, one sharp knife, a lock (with 2 keys), one spoon, one fork, scissors, a Wallace cork screw and Gromit wine stopper. And one half bottle of Super Glue.
If necessary she will be allowed to use AAA batteries three months past their expiration date, one gaily dotted oversized tea cup and paper plates left from a bridal shower three years ago.
Ample supply of cat food will be provided for her sidekick. (After all, it wasn't his idea to survive a move, he was quite happy living here, thank you very much.)
The Contestant will be required to live on: Four bottles of wine (two red, one white, one "apple spice" of questionable potability) a bottle of champagne, a Brita pitcher with a filter a week past it's "use by" date, two 16.9 oz. bottles of Vernors, on 10 oz bottle Schweppes club soda, one .95 lb. package of Coastal cheese, three apples, one bottle of Tabasco, one 19.3 oz. bottle Heinz squeeze sweet relish, one 19.3 oz bottle Heinz yellow mustard, one 9 oz. bottle old fashioned Dijon mustard (approx 8 oz removed), one 12 oz. bottle honey Dijon mustard (approx. 6 oz. removed) one jar homemade blueberry preserves, one jar orange marmalade, one quarter bottle of squeeze grape jelly, one jar honey, one 48 oz jar Deluxe Randall mixed beans. Additional provisions include: one package frozen Brussels sprouts, one half jar of creamy Peter Pan peanut butter, one package Santa Fe Corn Chowder flavored Bean Cuisine and 1 cup remaining in a package of Cream of Wheat.
The contestant will endeavor to sustain life functions on these provisions for two weeks, or more if required by dwindling finances.
During that time the contestant will be required go to work, perform her workerly duties while there, spend nights packing or discarding the entire contents of her life, all her Earthly possessions, in preparation for a move from the starting Point A, her current apartment, to the finish line, Point B, her new apartment.
Distance: 3.03 miles.
We hear a voice from behind boxes and bubble wrap, "I know it doesn't sound like much. I have walked the route on many occasions, no big deal, right? Right, if you're taking a walk or a jog or a bike ride. But wrong if you're moving house. That route might as well be across country in terms of moving house. It may only be 3.03 miles by the map, but it's a whole different area code and two zip codes away. It's a whole different attitude. A whole different tax base. A whole different game altogether. I never thought I'd want to live there, but I found a place I can almost afford and I have to move, so I'm going to try to make the best of it. I'll be able to walk to work, it's right on Lake Michigan, so, you know, I guess, I mean, I had no choice, I had to move and this apartment was available. I can always move if I don't like it..."
The contestant is left on her own to accomplish the move.
She has been given the added challenges of moving in January. Three weeks after Christmas. In Chicago.
January brings the worst financial and weather conditions of the year.
The Contestant has already discovered a discrepancy in her finances.
"Not the best time to discover an error in the bank's favor...my checking account has been completely messed up, I was mugged and had my identity stolen on Halloween - a 'small Latino' woman marched into three branches of my bank, wrote checks for cash and drained my checking account of every penny I had. I had to close the account, open a new one, file fraud and theft claims, deal with the fraud and theft department, pay a small fortune in fees...I thought things were finally settled. But on December 29th, the bank rang to inform me that they were not going to waive $300 in overdraft fees which were incurred when my old account was drained by the thief and that they had neglected to charge me $13.95 for a box of checks for my new account. Yes. The bank is charging me overdraft fees incurred when their tellers gave every penny in my account, cashed three checks for cash, with a badly forged signature, to someone who was not me.
Cutaway video to a closed circuit camera shot of a short, well dressed, Latino woman with a sassy attitude sashaying up to a bank teller, having a long conversation with the teller, the teller's eyes wide and astonished and then sympathetic and compassionate, the Latino woman showing what appears to be an ID, then writing a check for cash, the teller counting out a lot of bills, handing them to the short Latino woman and giving her a sympathetic pat on the arm and mouthing what appears to be 'good luck and God bless you.' Similar scenes are revealed at two other bank branches. Three hits in a 30 minute span. In one half hour a very short Latino woman was able to impersonate a very tall, very Caucasian woman and rob her of every penny she has, all with the help of three very pleasant and eager bank tellers.
Cut Back to the living room of The Contestant, "...And moreover, they are charging me for checks for the new account I had to open because their tellers gave every penny in my account to someone who wasn't me. The really disturbing part of this is that the higher up the managerial level I queried and complained, the less able they were to see the stupidity, unfairness or irony of this. The last person, apparently a quite high ranking senior bank official, had the nerve to tell me they had 'bent over backwards for me' by not charging me a lot of fees they usually charge, such as a closing account fee. Consequently, I am $313.95 lighter just after Christmas and two weeks before moving. That would have paid for a big portion of my moving company. Or a very nice rental car. I certainly hadn't budgeted for $313.95 in bank fees in my moving expenses. But here I am two weeks away from my move, the lease signed, a sub leaser moving in here..."
This contestant, in spite of appearances to the contrary, is organized. She has used an online resource and made a moving check-list. She has been following her prescribed procedures and accomplishing her weekly tasks leading up to the move. The home viewing audience is invited to play along at home.
An on screen bullet pointed list appears on screen.
Week of November 28 Packing Materials Start organizing your possessions. Throw out all frayed towels and sheets that have gone gray. Rule of thumb: If Mom would faint at the condition of your bed and bath linens - feed them to the incinerator (or better yet, use them to wrap delicate items on your move day). Another rule of thumb: If it's been more than a year since you've had occasion to use the "sexy" sheets, throw them away. If it's been over a year since you've wanted or needed your "sexy" sheets, chances are good that you won't be needing them any time soon, and if you do, you'll want new ones anyway. Don't let these reminders of your solitude and sad state of romantic activity follow you and haunt you in your new home. Pet Records If your pet's annual exam is less than two months away, take him or her to the vet for one last exam. Be sure to get referrals for vets in your new town. You'll also want to get a copy of your pet's medical records. Also be sure your pet has not had a milestone birthday and is considered a "senior" aged animal.(see below) Plan on Moving Help Ask for moving help well in advance. Once your friends and family commit to helping you, be sure to periodically remind them of your move date. Within a week of your move, you might want to remind them hourly. We're not making this up - the "remind them hourly" was actually on the bona fide "to do" list. If you follow this advice don't count on hearing from your friends for a while after you move. If ever.) Just hire swutting movers. It's worth whatever it costs. Research Truck Rental Begin researching rental truck companies. Err on the side of a bigger truck so you don't run out of room on your move day! Use a dependable company that guarantees the availability of a truck for your move. Solicit quotes and make a reservation. Or hire a moving company. The Contestant discovered the truck fee her moving company is charging is half what it would cost me to rent any sort of truck. Research Storage Facilities Too much stuff for your new place? Consider a storage facility. Start your research by comparing pricing and security levels. If you need frequent access to your possessions, be sure the facility can accommodate you.The Contestant chose an apartment which has storage lockers available for additional monthly fees. "Just do it, pay it and forget about it. It's worth it. You cut back on your movie and drinking budget by one movie and two drinks. There. Not so painful when you look at it that way, now is it?
Week of December 5 Food and Cleaning Supplies Finish up or pack the remaining food in the pantry and freezer. Use cleaning supplies you have on hand and avoid shopping for household items. Five weeks prior to moving? Really? The Contestant is in disbelief. "Seems a bit early to be emptying the cupboards...but then maybe other people keep more provisions around than I do..." Health Insurance Call your health insurance provider to ensure that you'll still have medical coverage in your new town. If you have coverage, transfer the policy to your new address. The Contestant wishes you good luck with this one. She's been trying to change her information with her health insurance company for five weeks and has still not spoken with anyone who will assist her in this capacity. Notify Doctor and Dentist Contact your doctor and dentist and inform them of your move. If you haven't selected a new doctor in your new town, request referrals from your current doctor. Once you have made your selection, arrange to have your medical records transferred. Note that most physicians require you to submit a signed letter before receiving records. The contestant only has to change her address, since she's only moving 3.03 miles, she will continue to use her existing doctors and dentist. Tax-deductible Moving Expenses Did you know that moving expenses are often tax deductible? You may be eligible to deduct transportation, travel, and lodging expenses for job-related moves. Begin to keep records of all move-related expenses and documents. And no, moving to a new place and using a corner or nook for your computer does not qualify as an office in the home or a business reason for moving. The Contestant already inquired. Time to Appraise Valuables It's time to have your valuables appraised if you plan on insuring them before your move. Seriously. You might not think you have anything of insurable value. But you probably do. Think about your stuff. Got a television? Computer? Stereo? Painting? Heirloom bottle cap collection? What if something were lost or damaged? What would it cost you to fix or replace it? Could you fix or replace it? Assess the Accessibility of Your Home If you live in a remote location, on a hill, or have a steep driveway that may not accommodate a large moving truck, be sure to discuss this with the moving company when requesting a personalized price quote. Additional charges may apply if a smaller "shuttle" truck is needed to complete the delivery of your goods. The contestant has recently discovered she will be required to pay a "walk-up" fee because she lives aboved the second floor in a building without an elevator.
Week of December 12 Tag Sale or Donate Possessions Start cleaning out your closets and bookcases. Donate or sell any clothing you have not worn in over two years. Sort through books and donate them to your local library or school, or sell to a used-book store. If you have a lot of good stuff and could use some extra cash, get planning on a tag sale. The Contestant discovered no one wants her stuff. She tried online auctions and didn't earn enough money to cover the listing fees. Charity and the dumpster are probably your best bets unless you really are parting with great, desirable, in demand stuff. If you have the time and space for a tag/garage/boot sale, you'll earn a little money for your junk, erm, cool stuff. But ask yourself if the time and effort is worth the $50 or $60 you earn. Take Advantage of your Empty Home Obtain a copy of your new floor plan, or create your own. Then start to plan where your furniture and possessions will live. Measure the rooms, doorways, and stairways to avoid surprises. And seize the opportunity to clean all the walls, floors, windows, cabinets and closets, while your home is still empty. The Contestant has spent many of her packing hours whiling away time arranging furniture on the floorplan of her new apartment. Do not over dwell on this step. Get Renters Insurance Moving is a good time to consider renters insurance, so contact your insurance provider and request a price quote for your new home. In order to find a good rate, it's a wise idea to solicit quotes from several providers. Even if you're not moving, do this. If you are moving, do it prior to your move. The policy may cover loss or damage during the move. New Blinds and Decorating Think about decorating your new place. Will you need blinds? Also, if possible, take measurements of all the rooms in your new home and decide where you will place furniture. Remember, new furniture can take over six weeks for delivery, so place your order well in advance. The Contestant ponders if anyone who moves actually has money to "decorate." Order New Mailing Labels Order mailing address labels and stationery for your new home. (or make your own) You might want to consider ordering new bank checks as well. Might?! Um, yes, you should consider ordering new bank checks. Packing Supplies Consider purchasing packing materials. You may protect some of your possessions using crumpled paper; blankets; pillows; even clothing. Sturdy boxes; packing tape; bubble wrap; and packing peanuts can be purchased from moving companies and truck-rental firms. The Contestant relented and ordered boxes from her moving company who has a buy-back policy - they will refund the cost of any unused box. Just do it. Order boxes. There are only so many liquor stores and those boxes are not always in the best condition. They're fine for some things, The Contestant highly recommends hitting up liquor stores for empty boxes, but don't rely on them as your only source.
Week of December 19 Pack Seasonals and Unnecessary Items Pack all items that you will not need during the month prior to your move. This includes winter/summer clothing, sports equipment, books and linens. Arrange for Moving Help Friends can sometimes be scarce on moving day, so if they've mysteriously gone AWOL, you should consider hiring a professional or calling the local college for help. Especially if you've been bugging your friends every hour about helping you move.
Week of December 26 Pet Safety Look into purchasing a travel kennel or "seat belt" for your pet's journey to his new home. No. A box from the liquor store with a towel from the throw away pile is not good enough. Furniture Damage Jot down any existing damage on your belongings and furniture. You'll want to be aware of this damage in case you try to make a claim with your movers. Because of course you want to blame existing damage on the movers. Duh.
Week of January 2 Secure a Parking Spot for the Moving Truck Plan for the arrival of your movers by ensuring that they have a convenient place to park their truck. Mark off a parking area with cones or chairs to reserve the space. If you live in a metropolitan area, consider obtaining a city parking permit to make sure the space remains available for the movers. If you live in Chicago, and it's Winter, this is di rigueur quid pro quo for any parking space. You know the drill. Get out your crappy old kitchen chairs and brooms and reserve your space. Inspect New Home Before moving day, try to visit your new home with your new landlord. You'll want to check for damages left by the previous tenants. You'll also want to arrange a time to pick up keys and have the home cleaned. Not that the landlord will do anything about it, but make a note and take date stamped photos so that you can prove it was that way when you moved into the place. Packing Boxes When packing for the big day, don't forget to clearly label each box with the room in which they belong. This will help the move quicker and settling in that much easier. Apparently this isn't obvious or they wouldn't have listed it. Also, write your name and new address on all your boxes. Yes. Really. Return Borrowed Items Return all library books, videos and any other borrowed or rented items. If you've had your neighbor's weed whacker for three years, wait until the night before you move, toss it into their back yard and never speak of it again. Throw out Wastes Dispose your household hazardous waste (cleaning fluids, lighter fluid, aerosols) before you move. Contact your Town Hall or Public Works department for the nearest location of hazardous waste disposal. You can also call 1-800-CLEANUP. Or, if you live in Chicago, just dump it down your sink or toilet. Apparently this is a widely known and accepted practice here in Chicago. And yes, photo developing materials count as hazardous. Really.
Week of January 9 Dry Cleaners Nobody wants to find out that their favorite shirt is back at the old dry cleaners, so remember to pick up all of your clothes before you move. The Contestant wistfully remembers the boots she forgot were at a shoe repairer the last time she moved. Far, far away. "I liked those boots, I really did..." Make Sure to ask for Appliance Manuals Don't forget to ask the previous tenant for any warranties and instruction manuals for appliances that will remain in your new home. Newspaper Subscription Don't forget to subscribe to the local newspaper(s) in your new community. Pet Preparation Pay close attention to your pet's behavior during the weeks before and after your move. You'll want to surround him or her with familiar objects to help ease the stress of settling into new surroundings. If your pet will be traveling to your destination in a commercial aircraft, obtain a certificate of health from your veterinarian (often, these must be dated within 10 days of flight) and check with the airline regarding any other pet travel policies and procedures. Moving is very stressful for animals. See below. Pet Travel If your pet is traveling by plane, arrive at the airport at least two hours early. Your pet will need to be placed in a proper travel crate. If your pet is small, consider having him or her travel in coach with you. If this works, have some fun with the flight attendant and request that your pet's meal be served in first-class. Also, at check-in, be prepared to show the airline attendant a veterinarian-issued certificate of health. Again, we're not making up the part about the meal in firs-class. We don't see the humor in it and we doubt any airline attendants will, either, nor will the fine folks at Homeland Security. Unless you want to share the fun of a cavity search with your animal companion, skip the jokes. Trash Removal Make arrangements for final trash and recycling pickup. If you're leaving before the next pick-up date, ask neighbors if you can leave trash with them. You might also be able to drop off trash at the local dump. Hi neighbor, I'm moving. Can I leave all my crap with you for a week until the trash pick-up day? Thanks. You've been a great neighbor. I'm sure we'll never see each other again. So here's my bags of crap. Bye now. Write out Map and Directions Make sure your movers know where they are going. Prepare written directions and a highlighted map. Exchange cell phone numbers so you can stay in touch in case one of you is delayed. Seriously. This is probably the single most important item on the list. Stories The Contestant could tell... Notify Friends Be creative when notifying friends and family of your move. Pack Kitchenware Get a good start by packing up all of your possessions that won't be needed during the week of your move. This includes clothing, books, kitchenware and that favorite old t-shirt you've been saving "in case we decide to paint the living room." If you've been following this timeline, you used up or threw away all the food in your pantry five weeks ago, you might as well have packed this stuff then. But if you didn't, do it now. Like The Contestant, you, too, can try to live with a spoon, sharp knife, fork, scissors, a cork screw, wine stopper, super glue, lock and keys and a tea cup for a few weeks.
The Contestant begins her Two Week to Move countdown week by contacting utilities and making arrangements for pet care. The phone company will have to issue a new phone number and transfer service to her new apartment. The Contestant requests overlapping service of two days at each apartment. This costs extra. Total fee for new phone number in new area code, transfer fee and overlapping service at two locations: $43.95. "I knew there would be a fee to make the move, but $43.95? Seems a little steep for move with the existing phone company 3.03 miles. But no big deal, I guess. It's not horrendous. Add it to the bank fees. I wasn't going to buy groceries, I don't want to have to deal with moving or throwing away food, I was going to have take away and live off the food I have. I'll just have to skip the take away meals and ration my food..." Electric company is amazingly pleasant and cooperative. "There? See? That's how it should be. Pleasant customer service, no special fees, disconnect from apartment A on a specific date, connect in apartment B on another specific date." Internet service provider poses unexpected challenges. "I've been really happy with my internet provider, not one complaint in the four years I've been using them. Really swell people, great customer support, superior connectivity...their rates are slightly higher, but not substantially, I gladly pay a few dollars more for the great service. So I never expected to face what I encountered with them regarding my move." Cut to the dining room/office of The Contestant. She is peering at her monitor at a "moving/transferring" service online form. She is telenecking, we hear hold muzak from the akimbo phone under her chin. An animated clock is counting her hold time. After hold time of 13:24:12 the muzak is interrupted with: "This is Tony, how can I help you?" The Contestant nearly drops the phone. We hear her end of a telephone conversation. "Hi Tony. I'm online, filling out the move service request. I nearly checked 'agree to terms' when I noticed what reads as contradictory terms and I'd like to clarify a few points before I agree to them. Yes. Yes. Online, yes, I know, I'm doing that now but I have a few questions. Yes. Okay, I'm moving January 17. I checked to see if you provide service in my new building and phone number and got the thumbs up icon. Then I got a prompt asking me when I want to disconnect service. First of all, it's 2005 now, and you only offer pull downs for 2003 and 2004. Secondly, there's no reconnect date. I entered the date of my move for disconnect and from there it goes straight to the terms and condition agreement. I have learned to assume nothing, so I'm calling to be sure my service is disconnected from the old phone number on January 17, and reconnected to the new number on January 18, or, better than that, if I can have overlapping service, service on both numbers, for a few days. I've already made those arrangements with the phone company. Silence. Silence. Silence. Look of shock. "But..." silence. silence. silence. "Right. Okay, and that brings me to my next question: The terms state something about a year contract. I am well past my first year obligation, I've used you for four years. So the first year stipulations don't apply to me. I'm not a new customer, I'm an existing customer who is moving. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Look of outrage. You're telling me just because I'm moving you are going to consider me a new customer?!" Silence. "Yes, I realize it's a new phone number. But it's the same account! You're not changing anything except the phone line I use to connect!" Silence. Silence. Look of dejected resignation. "Okay. Fine. But what about the disconnect/reconnect dates and service overlapping?" Silence. Silence. Silence. Huge look of outrage, phone nearly thrown across the room. TWO WEEKS?!! TWO WEEKS?!!! I'm calling you on January 3 requesting a move of service on January 17, and you're telling me I will be without service for two weeks?" Silence. Silence. Silence. "Yes, but, wait, I'm submitting the request today. That gives you two weeks to process whatever and do whatever you have to do. I've got everything set up with my phone company, that's all systems go, and I'm giving you two weeks to manage changing my connection line." Silence. Silence. Silence. "Okay. I suppose I can figure out something at the office. But what about this line in the terms about the disconnection fee and reconnection credit? I'm not disconnecting, I'm moving. So I don't pay that $168 fee, right?" Silence. Silence. Silence. "NO! NO! NO! I am not a new customer. I have an existing account. I am moving 3.03 miles. I simply want to move my account to the new address and phone number." Silence. Silence. Silence. "Yes, but the reconnect credit is only $48, so you earn a tidy profit of $120 simply because I'm moving. You have your policy set up so that there's not actually a move policy. It's just a termination and reconnection policy. That's what you should call it. You should be paying me for my two weeks without internet service. But instead I have to pay you $168 to terminate service on an account I don't even want to terminate in the first place, go without internet service for two weeks, even though I'm giving you two weeks notice of the move, and then, at some point, after I go two weeks without service, you will give me a $48 credit for reconnecting and opening a new contract on an existing four-year-old account." Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. "Excuse me. I have to stop you right there. You know what? When I called my phone company to move my service, they solicited me very heavily to use them for my internet needs. Their rates are considerably lower than yours and, they can have me up and on the internet the day I move in. I really hate to leave you, and it's going to cause a lot of upheaval of my email, but two weeks without internet because I'm moving as well as the requirement of a year's contract just because I'm moving is unacceptable and will cause far greater upheaval in my life. I am really surprised, really disappointed. You have always been so great, so customer oriented." Silence. Silence. Silence. "Yes, go ahead, transfer me to the service termination group." Silence. Telenecking. Muzak. "Hey! This is Drew! Am I speaking with Tricia?!" blares through the phone. Yes. This is she. Okay. (full name. account name. father's sister-in-law's first boss' middle name. phone number.)" Silence. Silence. "Well, no, I don't want to terminate service with you, but I'm moving, and it appears your move/transfer policies don't fulfill my internet needs. Your policies and terms are making me terminate service. I've been informed that even though I am calling two weeks prior to my move that I am going to be without service for two weeks after I move. I was also told that the "move" terms and conditions are actually termination and reconnect terms and conditions, and that I will be charged a $168 disconnection fee on a four year old account, but will be given a $48 credit when I reconnect. Maybe I am really not understanding something, maybe my expectations are too high, but this doesn't make sense to me. I'm merely moving 3.03 miles, to an address, zip code and area code your company serves. I don't want to terminate my existing account. I only want to move it to a new address and phone number." Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. "Drew, I appreciate your help, I really do, but surely I am not first and only person who has moved and wanted to take their existing account with them to their new home." Silence. Silence. Silence. "I'm not saying this to bargain or be a nasty customer, Drew, but you should know, since you're a senior customer care agent, that when I, or anyone else, calls their phone company to set up moving procedures, the phone company solicits very heavily, makes really great offers for a wide variety of internet services and suggests, very enticingly, to make the switch as long as we're moving anyway. I steadfastly turned down an offer for a rate of almost half what you're charging me because I like your service and customer service. Until today I have been very happy and didn't mind paying a little more because you're a good company. Lots of people move, Drew, and if they're going through what I'm going through, that offer from the phone company is going to be too easy and too inexpensive to turn down. You're going to lose customers who move to the phone company simply because you do not have moving procedures other than terminate and reconnect, and you have the gall to charge for those services." Silence. Silence. "Okay." Telenecking. Hold muzak. "Okay! Tricia! I think I found a way around this!" "Gee, swell. Thanks. Okay. Okay. Okay. Um, yeah, I guess." Silence. Silence. But I still have to be considered a new account and am obligated for a year contract?" Silence. Silence. Silence. "Well, it's still higher than what the phone company offered, but the monthly service fee wasn't an issue until I discovered all of the fine print about your move policy which isn't a move policy at all." Silence. Silence. "No." Silence. "Okay. Okay." Silence. Silence. "All right. Sure. I guess. If you say so, Drew. Let me restate what I understand to be your offer back to you so we understand each other. I agree to a new year contract obligation. You set me up as a two user account for one month at no charge to me. You activate a new user at my new phone number and address now, today, and deactivate the user, my existing account, at the end of the billing cycle. At no charge. So I've got overlapping service, no down time. The new user gets the new lower monthly rate, but I've got to pay $19.95 now to set up the new user on my existing account. So I'm paying $19.95 now, as well as my regular January monthly fee, and then starting next month I just pay the lower monthly rate you offered me "the new user" on my old account. Correct?" Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. "So, why don't you just offer that in the first place? Or make that your moving procedure?" Silence. Silence. Silence. "Okay. Thanks Drew, I appreciate your help." The Contestant crosses: Internet service off her "to do" list. "That was painful. I am so surprised. They've been such a great company. It seems so odd they don't have a better move procedures and policies...yikes. Look at the time, I've got to call the vet to book my cat's appointment and boarding. The veterinarian's office boards animals. My cat is due for a check-up anyway, so I'm hoping to take him in early of the morning of the move, drop him off, chat with the vet, and leave him there for his check-up and then board him there for the day. I budgeted check-up and boarding fees of $75." Cut to a split screen of The Contestant on the phone in her living room, stroking an oversized fluffy cat in her lap on one side, and a veterinarian's receptionist at the reception desk of the veterinarian's office. "North City Cool Kitty Vet, how can I help you?" "Hi, this is Tricia McMillian. My cat, Furry Creature, is a patient of Dr. Miss Kitty. I have a few questions." "What do you need?" "Erm, um, well, first, are you open on January 17th? It's a holiday." "Not for us. We'll be here." "Okay, great. I'm moving that day, and since Furry Creature is due for a check-up, I'm hoping to bring him in for an early morning appointment and then board him for the day, while I'm moving." "Let me pull up his record. Furry Creature McMillian?" "Yes. McMillian." "Ah yes, Furry Creature. Oh, he just had a birthday." "Yes, a few months ago." "He's a senior aged cat, now." "Really? Wow. Still a kitten in my eyes." "But he's not. He's a senior aged cat who has different health needs now." "Um, yes, of course." "His check-ups must now also include a senior evaluation. Blood, urine, stool, heart, lung and joint tests." "Okay, that sounds like a good idea. Sign him up for that, too, the day he's in for his appointment and boarding, the 17th." Cut to a single screen where The Contestant talks to the home viewing audience: "I want to be sure he's healthy and feeling okay," proffering up the large fluffy cat. "I know older animals have special needs. He seems perfectly healthy and acts like a kitten, and I want to keep him that way." Cut back to split screen. The kind, compassionate, caring veterinary office tart snottily says, "We don't board senior aged animals who haven't had a senior evaluation. He'll have to come in before the day you want to board him for his tests so we have the results back and approve his boarding prior to the day you want to board him." "So I have to bring him in for his check-up and evaluation before the day I board him? Really? You can't just do all of it the day he's there?" "No. We don't board senior animals who haven't had satisfactory senior evaluations." "He only turned 'senior' a few months ago...I'm sure he's healthy and will pass his evaluations, I know you hear that all the time, but he's really fine except that this move is causing a lot of upheaval for him, I'd want to keep his stress level to a minimum." Cut to single screen where The Contestant flashes a stern look at the home viewing audience. "Hey. Be quiet. Animals get stressed, too. He didn't ask to have his world turned upside down by moving. You don't know him. He's not 'just a cat.' We're a team. We're good for each other. I saved his life, and he's saved mine on more than one drunken suicidal night. There have been times he's been the only reason I've gotten out of bed. When I was bed-bound with a broken ankle and whiplash he wouldn't leave my side. This cat is my best friend and my surrogate child, he's always given me more comfort and companionship and laughs than any man I've dated, which says more about the men I date than my cat, by the way, so just go roll your eyes somewhere else or watch Cum to Papa or whatever FOX is showing tonight." Cut back to a split screen. The kind, compassionate, caring veterinary office tart tiredly says, "Let me ask Dr. Miss Kitty." "Thank you." Hold muzak interlude featuring Queen's Best Friend a wavy screen indicates a sentimental flashback of The Contestant and her cat is forthcoming. The Contestant, younger, alone on a cold, gray December day, braces her coat tighter around her to ward off the icy wind. She notices a sign in a window: "Cat shelter lost funding. Animals will be sent to the city pound. Please help. Many animals need homes." She peers into the window of the storefront shelter. There are no lights on except for a faint glow from a back room. There are a few cats curled up sleeping in a kitty condo. She puts her hands to the window and around her face to eliminate the street glare to get a better look inside the shelter and at the cats. WHAM! She jumps back, startled. A kitten jumps at the window at her. He's now perched on a cat scratching pole, laughing at her. Yes. The kitten is laughing. At her. Because he pounced on her through the window and startled her. Yes. Laughing. She laughs back at him. He pokes a paw at the window. She pokes her fingers back at him. They play this game for a long time. They are both easily amused. A tired looking woman sticks her head out from the back room. She spots The (younger) Contestant and shuffles to the storefront. Through the window we here a muffled, "you want a cat?" making exaggerated pantomimes to the kitten and sleeping cats. "No. Yes. No. I mean..." The (younger) Contestant says, unable to walk away from the kitten. "Come on in." The cat lady beckons, unlocks about 20 locks on the door and lets The (younger) Contestant into the shelter. "Cold out there today. Winter's here." In here, too, The (younger) Contestant thinks, realizing it's as cold in here as it is outside. The kitten has already attached itself to The (younger) Contestant's trouser leg and is attempting to climb up her. "You made a friend! Mickey's been down in the dumps ever since his sisters were adopted. I couldn't believe it was him out here making the ruckus." "This cat? Down? Come on, you don't have to give me a hard luck story. We both know I'm going to stand here and hem and haw and try to consider if I can give a cat everything it needs, if I have a lifestyle to give him a supportive, happy home, and after a lot of deliberating the thing which all three of us already knows is going to happen will happen, so we might as well just skip all of that. Has he had any shots? How old is he? What's the adoption fee? Do you take checks?" the kitten now sitting on The (younger) Contestant's shoulder, a la a pirate's parrot, observing the transaction and pawing at The (younger) Contestant's hair. "I actually would prefer an older cat...everyone loves kittens, the poor older cats...I've always had older cats. I've only ever had one kitten..." "He's about 8 weeks old. His mother was a stray who had a litter my aunt's garage. She kept his mother and a kitten, but Mickey and his sisters ended up here. Didn't cha, fella." The (younger) Contestant flinches every time the name Mickey is said. The kitten doesn't seem to like it, either. Mickey, apparently an uninspired jab at the kittens oversized ears. "We lost our grant, we can't afford to stay here," the cat lady continues, "as it is we have no electricity or heat, we're out on December 31. We've got three days to find homes for 23 cats or they'll have to go to the pound. Which is horrible because we're a no kill shelter, the cats were brought here so they would be spared the pound, and yet that's where they're going. So if you can take a couple more..." Looking around at the curled up sleeping cats, The (younger) Contestant says, "I barely have a home myself. I just moved here, I'm sort of transient, I'd love to take them all, but honestly, I'm not sure how I'm going to manage one..." "I don't think you're going to get out of here without him, he's attached himself to you." Slide sequence of The Contestant and the kitten in various play sequences, settling into an apartment, watching movies, playing, the kitten grown into a full, enormous fluffy feline, men coming over to date The Contestant, the kitten screening all of them, The Contestant and the kitten playing, The contestant throwing herself on her bed sobbing, the kitten jumping up and consoling her, the cat proudly standing in front of two artfully arranged dead mice..."oooooh, you're my best friend..." Back to the split screen. The kind, compassionate, caring veterinary office tart shortly says, "Dr. Miss Kitty agreed to boarding your cat as long as we perform the senior evaluation while he's here" "Okay, thank you." The kind, compassionate, caring veterinary office tart boredly says, "What time do you want to bring him in?" "The earlier the better, the movers are here at 9:30 AM." The kind, compassionate, caring veterinary office tart snottily says, "I only have an 8:45." "Okay, that'll have to work. We'll be there." The kind, compassionate, caring veterinary office tart efficiently says, "We'll see you and Furry Creature at 8:45 on the 17th. He'll have his check-up and senior evaluation, you need to pick him up by 6:00 PM, lessee, with the boarding fee, that'll be $190." The Contestant's eyes bulge. "$190?!" The kind, compassionate, caring veterinary office tart snottily says, "Yes. The senior evaluation is $115, the office visit is $55, and the daily boarding fee is $20." "Oh. Erm. See. I hadn't budgeted for a senior evaluation for my cat, and $115 is kind of a lot of money for me right now what with the move..." The kind, compassionate, caring veterinary office tart boredly says, "We're already bending the rules for you. He can't stay here without it. And he needs to have it done anyway," then turning all more compassionate than thou, "You shouldn't put off the evaluation, your cat's health, well-being, happiness and life depend on the test." "I realize that, I know it's important, and I care about my cat a lot. But he's only two months into his senior qualifying age bracket, I'm moving, I have less money with each phone call, and if I can wait to have this evaluation done until a few months from now it would be financially helpful for me." The kind, compassionate, caring veterinary office tart snottily says, "Do you want the appointment and boarding or not?" Cut to another wavy screen, a future imagination sequence of: Furry Creature on his back, fur mangy and disheveled, legs in the air, tongue hanging out and gasping for air and life, big, sad eyes giving looks which are alternately pleading and forgiving, "I know we couldn't afford the evaluation, it's okay, I don't blame you. I understand. Please. Just put me out of my misery." As The Way We Were plays in the background. Cut back to single screen of The Contestant clinging to her cat, still wondering if she wants the appointment or not, then another wavy imagination sequence of her cat, dirty, scared, mewing pathetically and shivering, backed into a corner of a dingy alley in a blizzard. At night. He's being accosted by a gang of killer rats. All because he got loose from his carrier on moving day because he wasn't boarded at the vet. While Memory from Cats plays in the background. Cut back to split screen. "Yes. Of course. 8:45 AM on the 17th. Thank you." The Contestant hangs up the phone and holds her cat tightly to her. Clings to him, more like. "$567.85! In one week we've been fleeced of $567.85. So much for the rental car for the week of the move. So much for take away meals. So much for new curtains for the new apartment. I suppose someone will let me borrow a car...I've got spare sheets I can use for curtains for the time being...I haven't been eating much lately anyway...don't worry, we've got plenty of food for you (looking at her cat). I'll just have to ration the food I have..." To be continued as the move progresses and The Contestant is thrown more challenges to test her survival skills.
