Disclaimer: I’m in a hostage situation. This is not a drill. This is a honest-to-goodness hostage crisis and any similarity to any other hostage crisis, either living or dead, sleeping or awake, shaken or stirred, is completely, totally, certainly, without-a-shadow-of-a-doubtedly intentional.
The bad news: Movers are holding my possessions hostage. The good news: I ate a leftover cheesesteak for breakfast. And now, with the aftertaste of hardened cheese still fresh in my mouth and the hardening of my arteries well underway, this is (cue Big Band music and fancy graphic):
Let’s recap. A month ago, my wife and I moved from Atlanta to Philly. Yadda yadda yadda. Our movers never showed up. Yadda yadda yadda. Basically these movers are not movers at all, but actually…um, let’s see…how should I phrase this….um…ROTTEN, LOWLIFE SLIME BUCKETS. Good, now that you’re caught up, here’s the latest:
We spent the last two weeks calling and calling and calling and calling our movers. Messages on voice mails went unreturned, legal threats were ignored. Naturally, the lack of information inspired us to develop theories to explain their sudden disappearance.
My wife thought the movers were swallowed by a freakish and EXTREMELY DANGEROUS opening in the Earth’s surface, which I must admit, did wonders for improving my sleeping patterns. I, however, was more of a realist and believed they were simply eaten by gigantic, snarling cockroaches. Nevertheless, all creative speculation ended two days ago when we got a phone call from a mysterious, gruff-voiced cretin named “Sore Throat”.
“Sore Throat” provided us with a list of demands. He wants:
1. A signed waiver that releases the movers of any liability.
2. An additional $1000.
3. Whatever remains of my pride and self-respect after I comply with #1 & # 2.
If we fail to comply with these terms, “Sore Throat” told me (and get ready to say this with a thick Joisey accent): “Yewl nevah see ya stuff ah-gen!”
You think I’m joking, but sadly, this is all true. What’s even sadder is that I’m completely unprepared to deal with a hostage situation. After all, my only frame of reference comes from The A-Team when George Peppard would devise a plan to rescue a group of nuns or orphans from the bad guys. Dammit, George! Couldn’t you have rescued a couch or a desk or a coffee table…just once!?!
So without Mr. T, or better yet, a box of grenades at my disposal, I moved on to Plan B: calling the Department of Transportation. After two minutes of listening to an instrumental version of “The Impossible Dream” (geez, talk about foreshadowing!), my call was answered by a man named James. I explained the entire situation and eagerly waited for James to wave his little DOT wand and solve the problem.
“Well, ah, gee, that sounds, like, really bad,” James said.
I told James I wanted to file a complaint against the moving company. After he stopped laughing, James said there's only three people in the ENTIRE United States Department of Transportation that deal with these claims. Three. THREE!!! C’mon, can there really be less people handling moving scam claims than there are operating the Slurpee machine at 7-11?
And just where does that put my claim?
“Ummmm…,” James began, which incidentally, is not the best way to instill confidence in a guy who’s been sleeping on a $10 air mattress for the past month. “I’m not making any promises, but they should be able to get to your claim before Thanksgiving.”
Huh?
If you listen very closely right now, you might be able to actually hear my spirit deflating.
Wait a minute, I've got it! I don't know why I didn't think of this before. It's time for Plan C, also known as Operation: Powerless also known as Mission: Up a Creek. A longtime favorite of substitute high school teachers, this plan is practically guaranteed to work! You see, the beauty of Operation: Powerless lies in it's simplicity. It's so easy that even a child or unemployed writer can do it!
Audience: Oooooooh! Aaaaaaah!
Announcer: But how does it work, Rob?
Just find an activity that doesn't require any furniture or possessions and do it! Charades, breakdancing, making "brown shag carpet angels," it doesn't matter. What's important is that you give up all hope about being in control!
Announcer: And this actually works?
Absolutely! In fact, it's worked for hundreds of years. According to United States Department of Military & Mischief, a man by the name of Thurston Rutherford used this exact method to deal with crooked movers in 1722.
Mr. Rutherford is quoted as saying, "I waited three years for those horses to arrive with my belongings. If I didn't have my whiskey, I'd never gotten through it."
Audience applauds.
I feel good about this new plan. And truthfully, I think that my inaction will somehow lead to the movers making an appearance. Here's my fantasy. By some mystical force of nature, the movers will actually deliver our furniture, books, dishes, and all the other boxes. And then, they'll suddenly find themselves carted away by police, their arms and legs tied together by endless reams of packing tape. They'll spend the next year living in a tiny, furniture-less room and sleeping on a bed of packing peanuts.
Oh, there's just one more thing. In this fantasy, Mr. T shows up. And he's packing grenades.
© 2005 robbloom.com.
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