Some of you may know that I moved recently. I talked about it a bit before my blogging, social media, and Youtube hiatus — not a planned hiatus, by the way, I just got so bogged down with the realities of moving and other work (like finishing the proofing of Bellica‘s third edition) that I literally had no time to write or video myself doing stupid shit.
All of my moves have been difficult, but this one seemed harder than most of them. Probably because it was just me and my mom doing most of the heavy lifting, and I have a spinal injury (that is now doing a lot worse than it was). Also because the place I was moving into was even smaller than my two-room basement suite that I’d resided in for one and half years, and I had to not only pack my belongings but, horror among horrors, sort and organize them so I could send half of my stuff to storage in Powell River (read: mom’s garage). I also had to get rid of stuff. My biggest problem was my double-sized foam mattress that I dearly loved.
I’m not really good at either of these things. Well, ok, I am good at organization, but it takes me a long time, and I didn’t have that time in August. So it was very stressful, trying to get it done SOOPER QUICK, as my timetable demanded. I was also trying to get out of my place a day early so I could make it to Pirates and Fairies on Lake Sasamat early on the first day (Friday, the 31st of August). Pirates and Fairies is an annual event that I’ve attended since 2010. It’s where I met my boyfriend, and his mom runs the whole weekend. It’s a hell of a lot of fun and I was planning on being a vendor and selling books there this year, so I needed to get there on time.
You can probably guess by my saying the above that I didn’t make it on time.
This move was a clusterfuck of clusterfucks. Each cluster of fucks was created out of smaller clusters of fucks, down and down and down until we got to hypothetical particle clusterfucks.
My mom had the bright idea of offering the mattress and box spring to a guy with a truck — he could take a bunch of other stuff up to Powell River in the truck, and get the mattress and box spring as payment. This guy does work for my mom around the house, and he’s trying to get his life back on track after some troubles. Mom’s helping him do that by offering him work.
Ok, so, got truck. Getting rid of mattress. Other big stuff going in truck. Mom’s leaving dog with me for a few hours, and he’s taking dog back up to Powell River with him. All settled.
Except he needed a new clutch for his truck, and didn’t have any money to do it. So mom fronted him some money so he could get the clutch done, and it got done.
We expected him to get on the 8am ferry to Comox, which would have put him in Nanaimo at noon-ish. So when 11:30 rolled around and we hadn’t heard from him, we gave him a call to see where he was.
He was still home, because he’d forgotten he needed money for the ferry. So we had to send money via email transfer and he had to grab the cash and rush down here. We sent some extra for gas. He went to catch the noon ferry.
You have to understand, the ferry schedule from Comox to Powell River can make life next to IMPOSSIBLE. He needed to be back that evening, which meant he had to get back for the 7:15pm ferry. This means leaving Nanaimo at 3:30pm at the very latest. The noon ferry from Powell River, which is the next ferry when you miss the 8am, puts you in Nanaimo around 3pm.
So I was scrambling to get things done because we’d only have 20 minutes to load a bunch of heavy shit into his truck, and he has a bad back too — because he broke his neck a while ago. (We should form a club: Crippled Spines Anonymous. Instead of free coffee, there’d be free Naproxen and Tramadol.)
At 3pm, I get a phone call. It’s Truck-Guy (hereafter referred to as TG). He’s out of gas, and has no money. Or jerrycan. He’s stuck on the highway about a 100 metres from a gas station.
I scramble. I try to get a hold of a friend who has a jerrycan, to see if he can drive out there and get TG some gas. No go; he’s not around today. I try to get a hold of mom, who is now on a ferry to Vancouver, to see if I can borrow some money from her because all I have on me is my money for the ferry — ~70 bucks for a one-way trip. No go; she doesn’t answer her cell phone.
So I grab the dog, grab my bag, and rush out to the car. We drive up to the gas station right by where he’s stopped, and I buy a jerrycan from them. Jerrycans are more expensive than I thought they would be, for the record. I then have to buy enough gas to put into the jerrycan, which is just enough to get him to my place. I meet him, give him the jerrycan, and tell him I’ll see him back at the house. I then rush home so I can finish getting stuff ready to get into the truck.
Tyee the wolf-dog is very excited during all of this. He loves TG, so in the absence of Pack Leader (mom) he’s excited to see other members of the pack, together as they should be.
TG arrives, we start hustling to get my sewing-machine-in-a-table loaded in, my Japanese cabinet that I use as altar-space, a bunch of boxes, and we’re planning on putting the mattress and box spring on top of everything. But he’s afraid his shocks won’t hold out if we load too much stuff on, so we put a few more boxes and two very light pieces of furniture in instead. He grabs Tyee, who’s totally excited YAY OMG to go for a truck ride and all of Tyee’s stuff (the dog does not travel light, let me tell you), I give him 40 bucks for gas so he can actually, you know, make it to the ferry, and he goes on his merry way.
I chat with mom, let her know what happened, and she pays me back the 66 bucks I spent on jerrycan and gas for him. (And a Kit-Kat bar, ok, yes, I was stressed and hungry and there was no food in my rapidly-emptying house so sue me.) Then, I get back to packing for several hours. I assume TG has made it to Powell River and everything is hunky dory.
(Ugh, remind me never to use ‘hunky dory’ again.)
Around 8:30pm mom calls me.
“Guess what happened?”
“We won the lottery and everything is sunshine and unicorn farts?” I say rather facetiously.
“TG’s truck broke down.”
You see, before the clutch could even get fixed the transmission had to be replaced. And TG had bought a transmission from a guy for a really good deal.
This same guy who gave TG the really good deal cannot be found now. And asking around town has revealed that he’s done this sort of thing before.
So TG and Tyee hitchhike a ride to the ferry because TG needs to be back that evening (long story), but they don’t make it on time. They decide to camp out on the beach. Some people who live nearby give him and the dog a blanket and some food.
At this point I just start laughing. The day has been such a long series of what-the-fuckery that I can’t help but laugh. So my shit is in TG’s truck and on the highway somewhere, exposed to the elements and less-than-savory people of Vancouver Island. TG and my dog are on the beach by the ferry, camping out (the dog is ecstatic about this; this is a friggin adventure, what fun omg yay). There is now no more hope of TG coming down again the next day for the mattress and box spring and whatever else we can cram in, so we need to find a new solution.
Laughter was definitely a better option than what I wanted to do, which was a.) cry, b.) have a nervous break down, and c.) fix everything with gasoline and a match.
So I laughed, and mom and I figured out what to do next.