We took everything off the truck in pads and unpadded most of the items in the garage. The overstuffed furniture, big bedroom pieces, dining room table and chairs, and the usual good stuff people have, we unpadded inside the house. Mrs. Vaughan ran from room to room taking video of the unpadding and scribbling into her notebook. It all looked fine to me, but she was writing frantically. After we finished the first load, we went down to the trailer to load the second shipment. Mr. Vaughan came with us and shot video of the transfer. More notes. By 5 p.m. we had unloaded the second shuttle and there was a half load left in the trailer. We told the Vaughans we’d load the last shipment onto the straight truck and finish the next day. This time Mr. Vaughan didn’t come to do video. It had started to rain again. We loaded the last half load onto the straight truck, and I took the trailer back to Erie and left the straight truck at the turnoff.
When I got home I had a message from Mr. Vaughan. They had gone out to have dinner, but on the return home their four-wheel-drive vehicle had gotten stuck on the hill due to the mud caused by the rain. Mr. Vaughan’s message said he was wondering if we’d be able to get the truck up the hill in the morning. That was helpful.
The next day we picked up the straight truck at 7:30 a.m. Pouring rain. I took the wheel and started up the hill like the previous day, but it didn’t work because the road had turned from gooey to gumbo. At the first grade my wheels spun in the mud and the truck started sliding backward down the hill. I got really lucky and managed to keep the thing out of the ditches until we hit the flatter grade at the bottom. This was the point where the smart money stops and waits for the rain to end and the road to dry. But I’ve never been a fan of the smart money, and I knew Mr. Vaughan would be working the phones if he had to wait a few more days. I didn’t want that. From the perspective of the company paying for the move and my own office, there are only two phone calls wanted: one to say I’m there on time and unloading, and one to say I’m finished and the shipper is happy. Any other call for any other reason is driver ineptitude.
I called Pete in operations and asked for approval to hire a tow truck to drag me up. He gave me a curt no and hung up. My next option was to try backing up the hill to the house. I knew that the reverse gear had slightly better torque than the lowest forward gear and that the weight on the rear tires might get better purchase. Also, if I was going to slide downhill again, I figured it was marginally better to be facing forward.
Julio and Carlos manned the turns again, and I backed the truck up the grade. It worked, but it took a long time. We arrived at the house at 9 a.m. Carlos and Julio were soaking wet from the two-mile walk in the rain, and I was soaking wet from fear and stress. Mr. Vaughan came out holding a Venti Caramel Macchiato.
“You’re late.”
“It was a challenge getting up the hill.”
“We expected you at eight.”
“Yes. We’ll make up the time.”
“You can’t make up time. That’s nonsense. What do you know about time? When it’s passed you can’t get it back.”
“I know a little bit about time, sir. It’s time to unload.”
The Vaughans spent the day doing more video and criticizing all of our work. They filed a damage claim a few weeks later for over twenty grand. I’ll cop to a ding on their dining room table . . . and the dirt on the broom. Other than that the claim was bogus. But the van line paid it. I was debited my deductible of $1,600.
Just when a jaundiced view of humanity was about to infect my soul with cynicism and resentment, fate dealt me the opposite hand to mess yet again with my worldview. The contrasts I regularly deal with would be so much more fun if I could just learn to roll with them more effectively. I’m getting better, but obviously, the challenge is rolling with the hard ones. The easy ones are similar in that the shipper accepts the instant intimacy, and our shared humanity is acknowledged. When that happens we can actually have a relationship, short-lived as it might be, but no less authentic for that.
That’s when this came through:
Shipper Dewan Bronx New York to Colorado City Arizona 22,000 lbs 2,416 miles Line haul $21,000 Pack and load COD Extra stop at origin.
It was a full load paying over twenty grand, plus a full pack worth maybe five grand. Packing Monday/Tuesday, loading Wednesday, unloading Monday. That’s a one-week turn grossing fifteen grand, of which I’d pocket ten after expenses. Ten thousand a week has a nice ring to it.
I arrived at the Dewan residence in the heart of the Bronx at 8 a.m. after an early start from Oxford, Connecticut. The Dewan house was in the middle of a teeming block of identical working-class row houses. Fortunately I’d only brought a small pack van for the day’s packing. I was going to have to call the New York City traffic department and get the cars off the street for Wednesday’s loading day. My 53-foot trailer would completely block the road if I stayed out on the street. Also I was going to have to hire an extra guy to sit in the truck. In neighborhoods like this you can’t just let an open moving van sit there. It would be stripped in five minutes. (I learned this the hard way in Boston when I was unloading on Commonwealth Avenue, in a decent neighborhood, and a guy ran up the walkboard, grabbed a bicycle off the tier, and rode away. I was standing on the ladder inside the truck at the time and watched the whole thing happen. The sheer nerve was astounding. By the time I’d gotten over my shock and went to chase him he was long gone. So now I have a guy who just stays on the truck looking mean. It works but it’s expensive. (What I need is a scarecrow that looks like a mover.)
I walked up the stoop steps to the metal-barred storm door and rang the doorbell. It was answered by a small, middle-aged Bengali man.
“Good morning, Dr. Dewan. My name is Finn Murphy from Joyce Van Lines. I’m your driver. Here’s my card. This is Tommy and Jeff. We’ll be helping you move over the next few days.”
He beamed at us with owlish eyes. “Good morning, Finn and Tommy and Jeff. My name is Nobel. Please come in and meet my family. This is my wife Ranya and my infant son Rafik. We are all very pleased to meet you. This is a great day in our lives. We’ve been working toward this for ten years. We are all happy to meet you and have you share in our joy. Will you have some coffee? We serve real Arabian coffee in this house. I think you will like it.”
“Why, thank you, Doctor. I think we will join you. We can go over some details then as well.”
“Most excellent! Thank you. Ranya? Coffee, please. Please sit down, all of you. Let’s have a chat.”
Now there’s a nice way to greet your movers. Arabian coffee in the living room with a charming man who remembered all our names. Ranya brought in the coffee on a tray with a pot, cups, and saucers and served each of us with a shy smile, asking if we wanted cream and sugar. I felt like I was having high tea at the Plaza.
After pouring, Ranya disappeared, and Dr. Dewan started in.