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Yesterday was Canada Day, but in Montreal it is also known as Moving Day. Since almost all leases begin July 1 and end June 30, every year finds hundreds of thousands if not millions of people moving the same day. Truck rental companies, movers, painters and the like gouge you like crazy, doubling or even tripling their prices. This year, like last year, there was a housing shortage. Some 800 families were without homes yesterday. Luckily, my demographic is the most likely to find somewhere to live. I woke up yesterday at 8:13 am. Apparently the new owner was here at 7:30 with two painters ready to start painting. He thought that we were supposed to be out by midnight the night before. Idiot. None of us could move until the 1st. So he expected us to be done later in the day, as in a couple of hours. Whatever. Not a single person told me about this. I didn't know jack about anything until I woke up. K and I went to breakfast at Dusty's, then walked back to the apartment. I expected something else to go wrong. K suggested that perhaps the place would be on fire. For some reason, that would be funny, and we wouldn't be all that upset. He went home, I went to my new home to see how they were moving things out of the place. When I got there at 10:15, the place was cleaned out. I expected them to be gone by around 12 or 12:30, but apparently they were gone by the night before. I went back to Esplanade and continued packing. Since Deb has a car and she had already moved, she helped me move some things into the new place. I met my new landlady there in her short shorts. No cane this time. I got the keys, paid the rent, and was on my way to a new life. The weather was unbearably hot, like today. Montreal is quite humid, so when the temperature goes to say, 33 degrees (91 F) the humidex usually send it up around 40 (104 F). That is bad for us Canadians. We're like penguins. If it gets too warm, we melt. Yesterday I melted big time. Deb and I packed some more and waited for Saab to join us. When he got there, the new owner also got there with his wife (quite hot), bitching again about how he is getting the shaft by us. Once again, whatever. Saab, Deb and I made another run to the new place, then it was time to get the truck in Ville St. Laurent. The guy at the counter was young, French, with black, wavy hair. He was a little hunched over in his chair, and he was typing with one hand. I couldn't see his other arm, so that combined with the one-handed typing led me to conclude that we were dealing with a one-armed man. I was shocked to find that he had two arms. Suj was supposed to help us move, but he was still in the process of moving himself. We split up. Deb was to get Suj and Saab and I were to get the fridge, stove and couches. We were to all rendez-vous back at Esplanade. But things weren't so easy, yet they were. I'll explain. I rely too much on luck sometimes. When it comes to things like moving, I seem to have quite a bit of it. First stop for Saab and I was to get the fridge/stove from the lesbian(s). When we showed up we noticed that there were a bunch of others moving as well. Stroke of luck #1: We went upstairs to find that the guys moving in had these suction devices that were basically portable handles. They lent them to us. With those, we each had the strength and leverage of five men! we loaded the fridge and stove easily. We even got to use them to move into my new place by leaving a wallet as collateral. Next were the couches. Nothing much to say here, and I am getting tired. Fucking heat. We went back to Esplanade to find, you guessed it, the new owners. He was out $250 for the painters who didn't paint. I was extremely diplomatic. K and I were going to finish the cleaning that should have done by everyone (especially D) after we both move out. Deb showed up. She waited for 90 minutes for Suj, but never found him. We came back for us, but we weren't there. Back to Suj's again, then back to Esplanade where she found us. She was pissed. We loaded up the rest of the stuff into the trunk and started unpacking. Stroke of luck #2: Suddenly there was a fourth mover. Dave (extremely French, as in Lac St. Jean, yet he calls himself Dave) started helping us. Turns out that Dave is a professional mover. He knows exactly how to get things in very tight spaces. Furniture and such, that is. With his help, the ordeal took about half the time. However, we were flummoxed by the triple couch. It couldn't fit in the front stairwell. Dave propsed that we hoist it up to the third floor balcony (mine) with a rope, then go in through the door. Great idea, except that the damn thing is so long and thick and it wouldn't fit through that door, either. The next plan is to hoist it up the back fire escape, but I was about to fall over, so we called it a night. Deb left, Dave left. It was just Saab and I, and I still had a date at Esplanade. Saab and I got there first, then K. Saab left the truck to me overnight. We were cleaning when the new owner showed up with plastic bags. Wee really needed them. We only had 7. We needed 17. By 2 am we had done as much as we could physically do. We pitched the valuable stuff in the front lawn for scavengers and left. I never thought I would be so glad to get away from there for good. I drove K home. It's funny. For me, it began and ended with K. At least it ended on that positive note. 0 scrawls at the end of this hallThe look: The feel: The taste: ________________________ |
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