bout de papier, Vol. 13, No. 3 (1996) — Fall 1996 // Automne 1996, pp. 6–8
Life has its difficult moments. Hailed back to Canada by the sudden and unexpected death of a parent is one of them. Sorting, packing and distributing her seventy-four years of possessions and memories rank right up there too. Shipping said items from my Mother’s condominium in Burlington, which was being sold, to our long term storage in Ottawa did not seem to represent a problem. This is life in the Foreign Service. One gets on with it.
Moving companies are not unlike the Mafia. They have connections everywhere. Before I even left our current post in Geneva, I had meetings arranged with movers in Burlington via our storage company in Ottawa. Somebody’s brother knew someone’s sister’s friend. You know the story. They could assess and organize a shipment to Ottawa within hours of my arrival in Burlington.
Speed was of the greatest essence. Unlike life’s special moments, when one lingers to savour each precious memory, life’s difficult moments are to be endured and passed through fast. I had given myself ten days — return trip to Geneva included.
Kind words of condolence, understanding and sympathy bring welcome moral support, but when it comes to organizing those boxes — you’re on your own. Who else knows when a teapot is a teapot, or a priceless family heirloom brought from England by great, great grandparents? Who else knows why you treasure the inexpensive glass cake stand with the large chip out of the side, but quickly sell off Aunt Louisa’s antique bedroom suite to the highest bidder? Who else cares?
It struck me, as I looted and pillaged my Mother’s belongings, that I was compelled to make split second decisions I might later regret. However, my biggest regret at this particular time was the thought of not being ready when the movers arrived. With that innate sense of “deadline” possessed by all members of the Foreign Service, all was ready.
Enter Lou. Technically, Lou is the superintendent of my Mother’s condominium. In fact, Lou is God. Goodness knows I did not intend this move to traumatize Lou’s life. Nor did I realize that this move must cause the least possible disruption to the rest of the building. Preferably, none at all.
Oblivious to the rules of the game, I had booked the movers without informing Lou. In point of fact, the precise time I had booked the movers was the day the entire wiring system of the building was being given its annual inspection. The bad news was that electricity would be sporadic to non-existent. The worse news was that the one elevator that must, by law, be kept functioning had already been booked by an unexpected move in one of the other condominiums.
Unexpected move? On closer examination, it seemed that the only surprise involved in this ather move was the fact that I an had completely forgotten about it. I somehow assumed my move might equally qualify as unexpected.
“We need at least two weeks notice to book a move,” Lou said. He added pointedly, “Why didn’t you let us know sooner?”
I explained, as calmly as I could, that two weeks ago my Mother had been alive and well. Truly, had I predicted her sudden death, I would most assuredly have booked the elevator in advance.
Lou was sympathetic, but determined. Rules were rules. I would have to change the day of the move. Any particular day? I was not taking any chances. Apparently any day was fine, so long as it was Friday. So, Friday it was. The movers were duly rearranged and I sat back awaiting Friday.
Wednesday dawned brightly in Burlington, except throughout the bleak interior of the condominium, now completely without power due to the previously announced wiring check. This clearly had no effect on the front door buzzer, which suddenly started ringing away madly. What to my wondering eyes should appear but my moving company, boxes in hand and ready for action.
Taken aback by the total darkness of the hallway and the unexpected appearance of the cancelled movers, I barely recognized the figure of Lou inching his way through the blackness, flashlight in hand.
“You guys own that truck?” he asked suspiciously.
“You bet,” answered Steve, the designated boss of this operation.
“You’ll have to move the truck,” Lou said.
“It’s parked at the loading ramp,” Steve offered. “Where else are we supposed to put it?”
“Too big for the loading ramp. Against fire regulations. Blocks the back of the building,” explained Lou. “You’ll have to move the truck.”
“Where do you want us to move it to, sir,” queried Steve. “Hamilton?”
Thus far, words had failed me. Having finally made some sense out of this ridiculous scenario, I plunged in.
“Look, Lou,” I explained patiently. “I cancelled the movers as I said I would. Obviously, they didn’t get the message. I’m sorry. What can I do? Send them away?”
Steve was exasperated as only a disgruntled mover can be. I did the only natural thing and burst into tears. Lou looked distraught, waving his flashlight around, possibly seeking divine intervention.
“How long do you guys think this job’ll take?” asked Lou.
“Hour, hour and a half at the most, and we’re outta here,” answered Steve.
’That other people’s moving company arrives, you’ll have to stop,” Lou added emphatically, “and you have to move the truck.”
“Look, sir,” asked Steve, “where exactly are we supposed to put the truck?”
This was a very good question. I was all ears.
“Down the road some so’s you don’t block traffic. Don’t generally allow big trucks like that in this building. Against regulations.”
Happily, there was not a lot to move. Steve and his sidekick good-naturedly carted the few pieces of furniture and assorted boxes down the darkened hall to the elevator, through the lobby, out the main door of the building, down the winding, curved driveway, through the front gates and halfway down the block to the waiting truck.
I peered over the balcony anxiously awaiting the arrival of the other moving company which, of course, would put an immediate end to our parade. No doubt Lou and his flashlight were out there in the hall, lurking around in the gloom.
Steve returned for the last few cartons. I could not imagine we had actually finished the entire job before the other company had even arrived on the scene. I queried, surely there had to have been some sign of the other people’s truck?
“Sure was,” replied Steve jovially. “Pulled up in front about an hour ago.”
I gaped in astonishment.
“We sent ’em off to lunch and told them to get lost for awhile.”
Life in the Foreign Service has its difficult moments. It’s the Steves — and maybe even the Lous — that help get us through them.
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 13, No. 3 (1996) — Fall 1996 // Automne 1996, pp. 6–8. Read the rest of this issue →
