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- #1
A few days it occurred to me while moving out that I would be heavily penalized by my apartment complex for leaving furniture and dirt in my living space, so I reached out to the Internet for help. Specifically, I asked for maid service, with the intent of contacting Salvation Army to properly haul out what they wanted in exchange for a tax deductible voucher. I decided instead to rely on a cleaning service that offered hauling, since we'd need to take at least the mattress to the dump anyways. It'd be easier.
Within a few hours I got two quotes. One by a highly rated service that had been on the website for two years with very pedantic negative feedback ("didn't show up on time once during a 6 month weekly stint of service"), the other was a newer user with no feedback that offered hauling as I wanted.
what could go wrong
INITIATE COUNTDOWN FOR PDX TO ALT FLIGHT ON APR 18 AT 10:45PM PST
T-60 HOURS
I received a phone call from the service saying that she'd like to visit some time tomorrow (instead of just on Friday) to pick up the furniture, except the mattress so I could sleep on it. Her plan was to bring her big guys over so we could get all the shit out of the way in her trailer, bring it to Salvation Army, get my credit, and then spend the entire day of Friday ensuring time for a good clean. Cool.
T-26 HOURS
I waited for a call that entire day. None came. At 8pm she notified me that her help couldn't take the day off from their jobs to assist on that Thursday, so it'd have to be done on Friday. Cool. I tell her I'll be up at 8am and she says she'll be getting up at 6am to get there on time. I tell her to call me an hour before she arrives so I can be ready.
T-14 HOURS
8am, P(lane)-Day has arrived. I wake up, go to Starbucks, get a coffee and a biscuit. My stuff is all packed, and I've taken care of some cleaning work, especially in the bathroom. I await her arrival.
T-12 HOURS
No call. I assume she's running late, but that's okay because with her haulers and the small size of my studio apartment, the cleaning would be super simple, especially with how much work I've done myself. It was mostly dusting that needed to be done, because of how the central air pumped so much into my room.
With ease of mind, I go to the mall to deal with my ISP and to get a haircut.
T-10 HOURS
At the metro stop returning home, I get a call from an unknown number. It's her. She said that she's at the apartment, because the doors are locked she needs me to let her in. I tell her that I'm out and will be there in 15 minutes, but if she contacted the front office they might let her in.
When I get to my apartment, I get a call from the front office. They're annoyed I didn't tell them someone would be asking for a door key. I say it's no big deal, I can literally see them on the phone from where I picked up. After a short laugh, first contact is made.
T-9 HOURS
When walking down the road back to my apartment, she mentions she may have parked illegally. I point to a large semi-truck with a trailer and ask, "Is that it?" She says "yes" and I say that's a perfectly okay place to park. There's nobody else with us.
She begins cleaning the kitchen and tells me that I shouldn't help her because it's my last day in Portland and I need to be partying. I laugh it off and say that I'd feel more comfortable helping out since she's by herself, but she corrects me that she has help coming. I remind her that dust is the #1 problem in the apartment and starting by sweeping or cleaning counters is a bad idea, because she could start from the top down, as literally every surface would be recovered in dust by the end of the dusting. She thinks that's a good idea.
By the time we get into conversation I can't help but notice she's insane. I've been around crazy before, but it came off as more of a southern "talks a lot and doesn't have good spatial awareness" type of crazy/dumb, not "absolutely off their fucking rocker" batshit. It's at this point I realize that the green Gatorade she's drinking has alcohol in it.
I am put-off, but that's okay, because her hired help will be coming soon and they will be able to talk care of the hauling. She's doing a good job at cleaning so I don't concern myself too much over the drinking. She mentioned a divorce, and is probably just having a rough time. Being the benevolent, patient, and tolerant human being that I am, I accept this. It's also worth mentioning that I am now absolutely out of time and there is no alternative. I can either lose my $1000 upfront on the apartment and risk being sued, or let crazy bitch clean up.
At some point she gave me a weird voodoo doll and tells me it's for good luck.
T-8 HOURS
She asks to borrow my phone. She says that her husband, whom she is divorcing, took $200 she gave him to pay the phone bill and only activated his own phone. She uses my phone to ask her brother where he's at, and says that he isn't coming. She then texts her husband "hey bitch it's Jimmy" to imply that she's cheating on him with someone named Jimmy, whom uses my phone number.
I am now fully alarmed.
I ask her about her plans for the furniture, and she says it's no big deal. She also begins to confess that she doesn't intend on taking it to good will, because she wants it for her cousin who's going to college. I am now flustered, but I don't lash out because I need her help to get done on time and I don't care if I don't get a receipt for my furniture, as long as it's out of the apartment.
T-7 HOURS
We begin to disassemble the IKEA furniture. Her truck is a 2004 white ford pickup that she had parked immediately in front of the apartment, illegally, without paying for the time. Both side view mirrors are broken. There is trash in the bed of the truck. I don't give a fuck at this point and dump the first load of my shit (a desk) in the back.
By the time we get to the dressers we realize there isn't enough room in the back of the truck for all my shit.
T-6 HOURS
I point out that I have two 20x20x20 boxes that need to go to FedEx before it closes, and it is now 3pm. We need to go immediately. Having made room in the bed with the assistance of a grocery store dumpster, I drive the intoxicated cleaner to FedEx and pay $135 for shipping. The things I care about are now on their way. Mission accomplished.
T-5 HOURS
All furniture, except a bed frame that she broke in the process of disassembling, is loaded up in the truck with the sweat-stained mattress proudly up on top. The visibility of the road from the driver's view is front-end only. With no rear view (thanks to the stuff) and no functioning side mirrors, we are blind in all directions but straight, and that's where we're going -- down the road. God help other traffic.
At this point I had complained for the first time. I was really set on getting a receipt for a charitable donation, so she decides that's what we're going to do. She, now somewhat sober, drives us to the gas station on the way to Goodwill. She needs to add oil to her car. She doesn't know what type to get and doesn't know how to do it. She spills half the oil on the engine because she didn't get a paper funnel. I fill it with another of the same type of oil and fix some random part she had broken off. I burned my finger on a hot hose.
We get to the store and she and backs up to park illegally by the loading bay in such a way that obstructs driving flow in the parking lot. They can't take everything we have because their store is too small. We just give them a dresser, my dishes, and some wooden bed slats. I don't know why we gave them those but we did.
She had an issue with the 1st generation African immigrant who spoke English well, but with a heavy accent. I'm not sure if it was racism, or if she was frustrated she couldn't understand him (she had trouble understanding me at times), but it ended up playing out as a Good Cop, Bad Cop. My "please"s and "thank-you"s contrasted her bitterness and mumbling, and the manager ended up hurriedly signing a blank receipt with no total value for contributions just to get us out.
T-4 HOURS
We were going to eat on the way back. I wanted pizza and haven't eaten anything but my biscuit. She also wanted pizza. At some point during our talks while cleaning, between the chit-chats of sexual assault and a bunch of other horrible shit I don't feel like going into, she mentioned having a gluten issue that gives her horrible diarrhea. Knowing this, I wasn't going to order anything without making sure I got it right. The last thing I fucking needed was her shitting her pants.
I get out of the truck because the parking lot for Hot Lips is for compact cars only. She says she's going to go drive around and get a spot. I wait 30 fucking minutes on the steps of the restaurant. She sends me a call from god-knows-where, I can't make out anything she says, and for the first time I snap. I hang up on her, I walk home, and I begin destroying the bedframe by myself. I sweep up the disgusting area outside of my apartment door, and take everything down to the dumpster except a piece I can't carry.
T-3 HOURS
I am now pissed off. A lot didn't get cleaned well. I figure I'm just going to deal with it, clean what I can by myself, and leave the largest piece there. They'll chop off a lot of my return cash, but that's okay. I don't fucking care anymore. I figure she's gone for good because she's too fucking stupid to park the truck. It also occurs to me that my bags were in her truck, and think that she might have stolen my clothes. Luckily, she has stuffed my laptop bag into the dishwasher, and that had everything I needed to get home and continue doing my job. I forsake my clothing.
Half an hour later, I get a call from the pizza place. It's her, and she's sobbing. She says she's lost and thinks I'm lost and wants to call the police for help because she doesn't know what to do. I feel bad and remind her of my address. She pulls up and is shaking, not really able to make complete sentences. She says she wants a hug and I hug her. I tell her it's going to be okay and I'm not mad. She helps me pull out the headboard and begins vacuuming and cleaning down the rest of the room. At the eve of the day, my apartment is clean and we flip the circuits for the electricity.
T-2 HOURS
I'm now out of time. The metro takes just over an hour to get to the airport, but the highway takes 20 minutes. We're going in her truck. Speeding down the highway at 80 MPH with no vision except forward. I try to explain to her that I have plenty of time because the flight doesn't leave until 10:45pm and we'd get there at 9pm at the latest. She doesn't comprehend this and hits the 360 degree off ramp going something like 40. I am the calm center of the world that the light of this life crowds around. Nothing can break my Buddhist zen. I direct her on what turns to take and we end up at the airport.
We hug like 10 times. She's on the verge of tears and calls me her best friend. She says she wants to leave with me. I thank her for the help and pay her in full because I don't want this shit following me to Florida.
I go inside and check in. I put my luggage on the scale and tell the guy I had the craziest day of my life. He laughs, I give him the gist and we yuck it up a bit. Fully expecting something to go wrong, I am absolutely elated to hear my baggage is free to check in and that I'm good to go. I thank him profusely to the point where I hear the baggage handler behind him say as I leave, "What was that about?" I am now completely out of fucks to give.
T-1 HOUR
I call my friend and tell him what happened. I enjoy a burger near my gate. This is the first food I've had since 8am. It tastes like a prisoner's last meal. The fries are fresh and as crisp as an apple slice. The burger is prepared with the love a grandmother would give her youngest grandbaby.
FINAL CALL
I board the plane. My mom bought me first class. With all the extra leg room, I stretch out and feel blood pump through my legs, which are burning from all the work. I feel my toes for the first time in hours. It's over.
Within a few hours I got two quotes. One by a highly rated service that had been on the website for two years with very pedantic negative feedback ("didn't show up on time once during a 6 month weekly stint of service"), the other was a newer user with no feedback that offered hauling as I wanted.
what could go wrong INITIATE COUNTDOWN FOR PDX TO ALT FLIGHT ON APR 18 AT 10:45PM PST
T-60 HOURS
I received a phone call from the service saying that she'd like to visit some time tomorrow (instead of just on Friday) to pick up the furniture, except the mattress so I could sleep on it. Her plan was to bring her big guys over so we could get all the shit out of the way in her trailer, bring it to Salvation Army, get my credit, and then spend the entire day of Friday ensuring time for a good clean. Cool.
T-26 HOURS
I waited for a call that entire day. None came. At 8pm she notified me that her help couldn't take the day off from their jobs to assist on that Thursday, so it'd have to be done on Friday. Cool. I tell her I'll be up at 8am and she says she'll be getting up at 6am to get there on time. I tell her to call me an hour before she arrives so I can be ready.
T-14 HOURS
8am, P(lane)-Day has arrived. I wake up, go to Starbucks, get a coffee and a biscuit. My stuff is all packed, and I've taken care of some cleaning work, especially in the bathroom. I await her arrival.
T-12 HOURS
No call. I assume she's running late, but that's okay because with her haulers and the small size of my studio apartment, the cleaning would be super simple, especially with how much work I've done myself. It was mostly dusting that needed to be done, because of how the central air pumped so much into my room.
With ease of mind, I go to the mall to deal with my ISP and to get a haircut.
T-10 HOURS
At the metro stop returning home, I get a call from an unknown number. It's her. She said that she's at the apartment, because the doors are locked she needs me to let her in. I tell her that I'm out and will be there in 15 minutes, but if she contacted the front office they might let her in.
When I get to my apartment, I get a call from the front office. They're annoyed I didn't tell them someone would be asking for a door key. I say it's no big deal, I can literally see them on the phone from where I picked up. After a short laugh, first contact is made.
T-9 HOURS
When walking down the road back to my apartment, she mentions she may have parked illegally. I point to a large semi-truck with a trailer and ask, "Is that it?" She says "yes" and I say that's a perfectly okay place to park. There's nobody else with us.
She begins cleaning the kitchen and tells me that I shouldn't help her because it's my last day in Portland and I need to be partying. I laugh it off and say that I'd feel more comfortable helping out since she's by herself, but she corrects me that she has help coming. I remind her that dust is the #1 problem in the apartment and starting by sweeping or cleaning counters is a bad idea, because she could start from the top down, as literally every surface would be recovered in dust by the end of the dusting. She thinks that's a good idea.
By the time we get into conversation I can't help but notice she's insane. I've been around crazy before, but it came off as more of a southern "talks a lot and doesn't have good spatial awareness" type of crazy/dumb, not "absolutely off their fucking rocker" batshit. It's at this point I realize that the green Gatorade she's drinking has alcohol in it.
I am put-off, but that's okay, because her hired help will be coming soon and they will be able to talk care of the hauling. She's doing a good job at cleaning so I don't concern myself too much over the drinking. She mentioned a divorce, and is probably just having a rough time. Being the benevolent, patient, and tolerant human being that I am, I accept this. It's also worth mentioning that I am now absolutely out of time and there is no alternative. I can either lose my $1000 upfront on the apartment and risk being sued, or let crazy bitch clean up.
At some point she gave me a weird voodoo doll and tells me it's for good luck.
T-8 HOURS
She asks to borrow my phone. She says that her husband, whom she is divorcing, took $200 she gave him to pay the phone bill and only activated his own phone. She uses my phone to ask her brother where he's at, and says that he isn't coming. She then texts her husband "hey bitch it's Jimmy" to imply that she's cheating on him with someone named Jimmy, whom uses my phone number.
I am now fully alarmed.
I ask her about her plans for the furniture, and she says it's no big deal. She also begins to confess that she doesn't intend on taking it to good will, because she wants it for her cousin who's going to college. I am now flustered, but I don't lash out because I need her help to get done on time and I don't care if I don't get a receipt for my furniture, as long as it's out of the apartment.
T-7 HOURS
We begin to disassemble the IKEA furniture. Her truck is a 2004 white ford pickup that she had parked immediately in front of the apartment, illegally, without paying for the time. Both side view mirrors are broken. There is trash in the bed of the truck. I don't give a fuck at this point and dump the first load of my shit (a desk) in the back.
By the time we get to the dressers we realize there isn't enough room in the back of the truck for all my shit.
T-6 HOURS
I point out that I have two 20x20x20 boxes that need to go to FedEx before it closes, and it is now 3pm. We need to go immediately. Having made room in the bed with the assistance of a grocery store dumpster, I drive the intoxicated cleaner to FedEx and pay $135 for shipping. The things I care about are now on their way. Mission accomplished.
T-5 HOURS
All furniture, except a bed frame that she broke in the process of disassembling, is loaded up in the truck with the sweat-stained mattress proudly up on top. The visibility of the road from the driver's view is front-end only. With no rear view (thanks to the stuff) and no functioning side mirrors, we are blind in all directions but straight, and that's where we're going -- down the road. God help other traffic.
At this point I had complained for the first time. I was really set on getting a receipt for a charitable donation, so she decides that's what we're going to do. She, now somewhat sober, drives us to the gas station on the way to Goodwill. She needs to add oil to her car. She doesn't know what type to get and doesn't know how to do it. She spills half the oil on the engine because she didn't get a paper funnel. I fill it with another of the same type of oil and fix some random part she had broken off. I burned my finger on a hot hose.
We get to the store and she and backs up to park illegally by the loading bay in such a way that obstructs driving flow in the parking lot. They can't take everything we have because their store is too small. We just give them a dresser, my dishes, and some wooden bed slats. I don't know why we gave them those but we did.
She had an issue with the 1st generation African immigrant who spoke English well, but with a heavy accent. I'm not sure if it was racism, or if she was frustrated she couldn't understand him (she had trouble understanding me at times), but it ended up playing out as a Good Cop, Bad Cop. My "please"s and "thank-you"s contrasted her bitterness and mumbling, and the manager ended up hurriedly signing a blank receipt with no total value for contributions just to get us out.
T-4 HOURS
We were going to eat on the way back. I wanted pizza and haven't eaten anything but my biscuit. She also wanted pizza. At some point during our talks while cleaning, between the chit-chats of sexual assault and a bunch of other horrible shit I don't feel like going into, she mentioned having a gluten issue that gives her horrible diarrhea. Knowing this, I wasn't going to order anything without making sure I got it right. The last thing I fucking needed was her shitting her pants.
I get out of the truck because the parking lot for Hot Lips is for compact cars only. She says she's going to go drive around and get a spot. I wait 30 fucking minutes on the steps of the restaurant. She sends me a call from god-knows-where, I can't make out anything she says, and for the first time I snap. I hang up on her, I walk home, and I begin destroying the bedframe by myself. I sweep up the disgusting area outside of my apartment door, and take everything down to the dumpster except a piece I can't carry.
T-3 HOURS
I am now pissed off. A lot didn't get cleaned well. I figure I'm just going to deal with it, clean what I can by myself, and leave the largest piece there. They'll chop off a lot of my return cash, but that's okay. I don't fucking care anymore. I figure she's gone for good because she's too fucking stupid to park the truck. It also occurs to me that my bags were in her truck, and think that she might have stolen my clothes. Luckily, she has stuffed my laptop bag into the dishwasher, and that had everything I needed to get home and continue doing my job. I forsake my clothing.
Half an hour later, I get a call from the pizza place. It's her, and she's sobbing. She says she's lost and thinks I'm lost and wants to call the police for help because she doesn't know what to do. I feel bad and remind her of my address. She pulls up and is shaking, not really able to make complete sentences. She says she wants a hug and I hug her. I tell her it's going to be okay and I'm not mad. She helps me pull out the headboard and begins vacuuming and cleaning down the rest of the room. At the eve of the day, my apartment is clean and we flip the circuits for the electricity.
T-2 HOURS
I'm now out of time. The metro takes just over an hour to get to the airport, but the highway takes 20 minutes. We're going in her truck. Speeding down the highway at 80 MPH with no vision except forward. I try to explain to her that I have plenty of time because the flight doesn't leave until 10:45pm and we'd get there at 9pm at the latest. She doesn't comprehend this and hits the 360 degree off ramp going something like 40. I am the calm center of the world that the light of this life crowds around. Nothing can break my Buddhist zen. I direct her on what turns to take and we end up at the airport.
We hug like 10 times. She's on the verge of tears and calls me her best friend. She says she wants to leave with me. I thank her for the help and pay her in full because I don't want this shit following me to Florida.
I go inside and check in. I put my luggage on the scale and tell the guy I had the craziest day of my life. He laughs, I give him the gist and we yuck it up a bit. Fully expecting something to go wrong, I am absolutely elated to hear my baggage is free to check in and that I'm good to go. I thank him profusely to the point where I hear the baggage handler behind him say as I leave, "What was that about?" I am now completely out of fucks to give.
T-1 HOUR
I call my friend and tell him what happened. I enjoy a burger near my gate. This is the first food I've had since 8am. It tastes like a prisoner's last meal. The fries are fresh and as crisp as an apple slice. The burger is prepared with the love a grandmother would give her youngest grandbaby.
FINAL CALL
I board the plane. My mom bought me first class. With all the extra leg room, I stretch out and feel blood pump through my legs, which are burning from all the work. I feel my toes for the first time in hours. It's over.
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, I'm sorry you had to go through all that! But at least it's a hell of a good story to tell.
It's quite a story.
