Seriously. This is going to be an angry vent session. And it will probably involve some profanity. And, if I can figure out the HTML, some explosives. You should stop reading now.
As you probably know, we recently moved into a new home in Buffalo, New York. The move has not been altogether smooth. With each setback, I’ve managed to hold my tongue. My fingers, on the other hand, are not nearly so cooperative. So here it is. (You might want to stop reading here.)
To the seller and attorneys and realtors and bank representatives who couldn’t find the time during April or May or the first half of June to get their act together, and instead let us know two days before our scheduled closing date that crucial documents were missing: Don’t worry. It doesn’t matter how long you take, or how much you screw things up. We have no choice but to pay you thousands of dollars while you jerk us around.
To the State of New York, which sees closing dates as “guidelines” more than deadlines: I know this is just the first in a long series of frustrating run-ins with your regulatory bureaucracy. I want you to know you’re off to a good start, because I’m truly dreading the license and registration process. And don’t worry. It doesn’t matter how long you take, or how much you screw things up. We have no choice but to pay you thousands of dollars while you jerk us around.
To the electric company that took 6 days to turn the power on, even though we have two young kids and it was the middle of a heat wave: I know you had a guy in our neighborhood the day before you finally turned our power on, and that it would have only taken him two minutes to get the job done. In fact, it probably would have saved you money to have him service us and the next-door neighbors on the same trip. But don’t worry. It doesn’t matter how long you take, or how much you screw things up. We have no choice but to pay you thousands of dollars while you jerk us around.
To Best Buy, which offers free installation on kitchen appliances: While I appreciate you plugging in the fridge, your “installation” would have been much more helpful if you’d done the parts I couldn’t have delegated to Sam, like hooking up the gas and water lines. Oh, and if you could bring all the parts ordered and paid for, that’d be great too. At least then we could do the hookup you won’t do. But don’t worry, you already have our thousands of dollars, so you don’t have to worry about truth in advertising or customer satisfaction anymore.
To the civil engineer who planned our neighborhood with houses so close together that I’m afraid to back out of our driveway: Bet you didn’t know I could drive out forward, did you? All it took was a 17-point turn and a few minor abrasions and I was facing traffic head-on.
To Sam, who picked today’s emergency diaper trip to Dollar General to yell “Please don’t! You’re hurting my bottom!” when I picked him up and held him to prevent him from throwing merchandise on the floor: You have two more days to be terrible. And then you’re going to get over that whole being two thing, and move on to the gloriously agreeable age of three. Got that?
To the Dollar General executive who decided to mount 6-foot poles to every cart to keep customers from leaving the store with them: Seriously? I don’t want your stupid cart. I’d just prefer to not have to carry my purchases and my infant while holding on to my screaming toddler to prevent him from shoplifting, kicking strangers, and knocking merchandise on the floor.
To the gawking strangers at the McKinley Road Dollar General who stared with disgust as I tried to wrestle my infant, my purchases, and my screaming toddler out of the store: FYI, I’d be out of your sight a whole lot faster if someone would hold the damn door.
To Penske truck rental, who reserved us a truck we couldn’t take across state lines: I was pretty annoyed to have to scramble for a new truck at the last minute while friends waited at our house for a truck to load, but in retrospect, I think it’s kind of sweet of you to try so hard to keep us close to home. I assure you, there are times we wished we’d never crossed state lines.
To the previous owner of our new house: While there are no contractual obligations requiring you to do so, it is customary to take your crap with you when you vacate the premises. Including the crap left by your cat in the basement. You know, in lots of little smelly piles back by the washing machine. Yeah, that crap. Come by and pick it up any time. I have it all boxed up and ready for you.
To the wonderful friends and family who helped us get packed, cleaned, moved, and settled: Thank you. I seriously seriously seriously would not have made it through the last few weeks without you.