Moving Furniture

Moving Furniture

I am not talking here about furniture moving around of, or should that be on, it’s own volition a la supernatural, involving poltergeists and their ilk. No! what this ramble is about is far more prosaic, what I’m on about here is Furniture Removalists.

There are not too many people around who actually like uprooting themselves (which is a bit different from rooting themselves up, or up rooting other people, both of which can be highly enjoyable!) and moving from one location to another.

Some people try to do it themselves with varying degrees of success. Get the boys around and pile all the furniture into utes/trailers/boots etc. and make numerous trips across the City and back while the Missus packs all her valuables and breakables into a variety of cardboard boxes that she purloined from the local supermarket.

After a couple of trips, the boys get a bit thirsty and break open one of the slabs of beer, bought as payment for their endeavours and then things start getting interesting. The end result is usually a complete shambles and cries of “Never again”.

One of the other cheap alternatives is to hire a couple of blokes with a truck, they don’t actually call themselves ‘Dodgy Brothers’ but they really should. This happened to us last time we moved, we called in the Bros. and they turned up. One of them had his right arm in plaster, which should have set off the alarm bells.

As an ex-Removalist myself (which I will go into in some detail later) I had already packed everything away properly, in the recommended boxes and my wife had suitably marked them. It was just a question of loading the boxes and larger pieces of furniture into the van and taking off across town.

Easier said than done, after the guy with the broken arm had managed to scratch my Wife’s precious dining table on the way down the steps, (I forgot to mention that it was a flat on the first floor). The driver jumped into the cab of the truck and tried to start the engine. No go! the silly bastard had left his lights on and the battery was as flat as a cow pat.

Not only that, but he had parked between the flats and a a fence, so it was impossible to ‘jump-start’ the engine. Nice situation!!!. I ended up calling my office mates, luckily we were only a three minute drive away, so they came down in their coffee break.

The truck was, of course, parked in a big rut and half full, thus making it harder to push. Me, the guy with the broken arm, four office mates and even the missus, started pushing. The idiot whose fault it was, sat comfortably in the cab, giving commands.

This could have been a very silly thing to do, as at least two of my mates were on the verge of dragging him from his cab and beating seven colours of shit out of him. Luckily for him, just before this occurred, the truck finally lurched out of the rut. Once we had a bit of momentum, it was a piece of the proverbial to push it into the street.

After that it was fairly uneventful, we arrived at our destination, got the truck unloaded and everything stacked inside. The missus being a good hearted soul asked me if we should give them a tip for a job well done. I won’t give you my reply, I’ll leave it to your own imagination.

Cheers,

SkyBlueSkull