Life All My Sons Moving and Storage
posted by June 30 at 12:16 PMon
This weekend, I made one colossal mistake and had one brilliant, faith-in-humanity-restoring stroke of luck.
The mistake: Hiring All My Sons Moving and Storage to move my stuff (and my piano) to Columbia City. The stroke of luck, I’ll tell you about in a minute.
Here’s the short version: The guys from All My Sons Moving and Storage showed up late—not just a little late, but two and a half hours past the end of the four-hour window the company gave me for the move. So, there went my Friday night, but whatever. The guys were pretty fast, and they managed to get most of my stuff into the new place within the two hours I’d agreed to pay for when I booked the time with the company.
MOST of my stuff.
While we settled up with one of the guys and paid for the two hours noted on the contract ($290, because of the piano), the two other guys went outside—to bring in my piano, I assumed. But minutes went by, and no piano. Finally, I asked: “Where’s my piano?” The guy responded: “Oh, that’s going to be another $150.” No way, I said—we signed a contract, we paid what we owed, and there was no reason we should pay another $150 even if we had it, which we didn’t. He said no money, no piano.
We tried to reason with him. “Look, we’re not going to let you extort us. Just bring in the piano, drive away, and we can all go on with our lives. He replied, “Well, we’ve gotta take off, so we’ll just have to take your piano with us.”
So we called the police.
A few minutes went by in standoff. Then the guy inside the house bolted, ran to the truck, hopped in, and sped away. We followed him, running, outside.
There, on the sidewalk, was my piano. All 1,000 pounds of it.
Fortunately, the story has a happy ending. Just as I was starting to seriously lose my shit—because there’s no fucking way the two of us were moving this piano into the carport, much less up the stairs—three guys came stumbling up the street. “What’s with the piano?” one of them asked. So we told them the whole story. “Well, we’ve had a few beers, but we can try to help you move it,” one said gamely. And they did. And now my piano is safely inside—no thanks to All My Sons Moving Company, but many thanks to the three wonderful neighbors who stumbled up our hill to save the day.