SANTA CLARA, Calif. I am here—just over the border from my residence for the next ten months in San José. The drive was long and uneventful. It also taught me that the next time I have to go any distance in a car I need satellite radio.
This relocation has involved several hotel stays. I’m four days into it and already I’m sick of them.
I spent Monday at a Holiday Inn Express on N. Aurora Ave. First of all, I think I’d have done better at the Comfort Inn; I know it’s a no-frills place, but they really take that to heart. There was one single ice machine for the entire hotel, although there were vending machines on each of the four floors. The folks at reception wouldn’t give me change for $20—oh, no small bills at all. And I thought their complimentary breakfast was pretty dire until I saw what the Best Western in Medford put out.
Tuesday was the Radisson at Sea-Tac. Not impressed with the housekeeping service (OTC meds wrappers still on the floor from a previous guest), but they had a Sleep Number bed. (Can’t say I noticed anything special about it except that it makes a hell of a racket when you’re puffing it up or deflating it.)
Naturally, they weren’t giving anything away, not even a free cup of coffee.
I really don’t seem to learn my lesson about Best Western hotels in the US: they’re consistently rubbish. I’ve stayed at a number of BWs in France, Italy, Germany and Belgium; they may be at the low end of the three-star category, but they’re always decent and sometimes charming. The ones here give you the sense that you’re staying in a truckstop motel. (And I’ve stayed in those, so I know.)
(I was going to do a symbolic “shake the Seattle dust from my heels” dance at the Washington-Oregon border, but it turns out that you leave Washington and cross into Oregon in the middle of a steel bridge spanning the Columbia River, so I didn’t.)
I hate a hotel that has exterior access, because it means you can’t have your drapes open: people are walking by and can see into your room. I felt like I was spending the night in a cave.
And their “complimentary continental-style breakfast”? A bowl of bananas, coffee, some cold cereal, slices of bread, bagels and dreadful little muffins. Not even any napkins. Also—six whole tables scrunched into a room about 5’ x 10’. Mobbed by the bikers and AARP crowd who seem to be the primary clientele.
Tonight through Monday (thanks to my movers delivering on the last possible day of the spread) I’m at an Embassy Suites in Santa Clara. Interesting business model: the breakfast and evening cocktail reception are free; the Internet access is not.
Tomorrow I sign the lease and install the cat in the new place. If I have time I’m getting a California driver’s license and plates for the car. I’m so ready to be past Washington.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Moving on (Pt. 7)
MEDFORD, Ore. – Well, packers came on Monday & my possessions were loaded yesterday; the Rubicon (or at least the Columbia) has been crossed.
I wonder—does anyone ever have a good experience with interstate movers? I don’t believe I ever have done; at best just bearable & at worse a complete nightmare. This one is leaning toward the former, but we’re in early innings yet.
Allied sent out a team of three to pack, which was a vast improvement over what United did in Virginia. However I had to keep making rounds to check that they were actually packing things. For example, they left a mirror unpacked & only when I asked if the loaders would wrap it in padding did they laboriously use one of the mirror packs they’d brought.
At the end of the day they also managed to use $300 more in cartons than was in the “guaranteed not-to-exceed” farrago of an estimate.
It’s kind of sad to see all your stuff in boxes—even when you think you have become much too materialistic & should cut back by at least 30%. It all looks so…forlorn.
But yesterday it got worse. I saw the semi parked up the street, not moving & blocking any traffic (Seattle streets are hardly worth the designator); they were there for at least 30 minutes. One of the loaders said they got “stuck”—I have no idea what that means, but it doesn’t speak well for the driver’s ability to negotiate a city.
Then there was a SNAFU with the parking permit—they’d put out barricades on Friday, but apparently never registered the permit with the city & the parking enforcement chick who came out because there were a couple of cars parked where the van needed to be couldn’t cite the violators without having confirmation. Took a while for that to get sorted.
Once in progress, the first thing Joe the driver did was whine that my load’s too small. You could see his gears turning, trying to figure out what extras he can tack on to make up for the lack of weight. Oh—I’m moving into a townhouse? With STAIRS? Oh, he’ll have to “hire an extra guy”. Did he have to “hire an extra guy” to pick up my stuff? Or an extra two guys, since I have two staircases?
I showed him the layout of the apartment complex. Oh, don’t think he can get IN there; have to be a shuttle. (Offload the stuff at a warehouse & onto a smaller van. Of course at extra cost.) At the very best it’s a “long walk”, the way it was to pick up from my place.
Moreover, my delivery is scheduled for the 17th, which is the very last day of the spread they gave me. Seems Joe’s hanging around Seattle until Friday to pick up his next load. So I have an extra three days of faffing about San José with nothing constructive to do.
But the part that just leaves me gobsmacked was when he started asking me how to get to my new place. I’m not talking finding the unit, I’m talking finding a route to the street. The exaggerated look of dismay & confusion on his face was un-freaking-believable.
(I called the “move coordinator” to inquire as to whether their drivers don’t have GPS or even maps. She said they’re independent contractors & not all have GPS; but implied that they should have maps. When I said Joe didn’t seem to have them, she said she’d pull some out & make sure he had them before he leaves. God give me strength.)
Between the disdain for my paltry load & his cluelessness about delivery, I’m really not getting a warm & fuzzy feeling for this guy. The one thing I know is that my moving tsuris is not over.
I wonder—does anyone ever have a good experience with interstate movers? I don’t believe I ever have done; at best just bearable & at worse a complete nightmare. This one is leaning toward the former, but we’re in early innings yet.
Allied sent out a team of three to pack, which was a vast improvement over what United did in Virginia. However I had to keep making rounds to check that they were actually packing things. For example, they left a mirror unpacked & only when I asked if the loaders would wrap it in padding did they laboriously use one of the mirror packs they’d brought.
At the end of the day they also managed to use $300 more in cartons than was in the “guaranteed not-to-exceed” farrago of an estimate.
It’s kind of sad to see all your stuff in boxes—even when you think you have become much too materialistic & should cut back by at least 30%. It all looks so…forlorn.
But yesterday it got worse. I saw the semi parked up the street, not moving & blocking any traffic (Seattle streets are hardly worth the designator); they were there for at least 30 minutes. One of the loaders said they got “stuck”—I have no idea what that means, but it doesn’t speak well for the driver’s ability to negotiate a city.
Then there was a SNAFU with the parking permit—they’d put out barricades on Friday, but apparently never registered the permit with the city & the parking enforcement chick who came out because there were a couple of cars parked where the van needed to be couldn’t cite the violators without having confirmation. Took a while for that to get sorted.
Once in progress, the first thing Joe the driver did was whine that my load’s too small. You could see his gears turning, trying to figure out what extras he can tack on to make up for the lack of weight. Oh—I’m moving into a townhouse? With STAIRS? Oh, he’ll have to “hire an extra guy”. Did he have to “hire an extra guy” to pick up my stuff? Or an extra two guys, since I have two staircases?
I showed him the layout of the apartment complex. Oh, don’t think he can get IN there; have to be a shuttle. (Offload the stuff at a warehouse & onto a smaller van. Of course at extra cost.) At the very best it’s a “long walk”, the way it was to pick up from my place.
Moreover, my delivery is scheduled for the 17th, which is the very last day of the spread they gave me. Seems Joe’s hanging around Seattle until Friday to pick up his next load. So I have an extra three days of faffing about San José with nothing constructive to do.
But the part that just leaves me gobsmacked was when he started asking me how to get to my new place. I’m not talking finding the unit, I’m talking finding a route to the street. The exaggerated look of dismay & confusion on his face was un-freaking-believable.
(I called the “move coordinator” to inquire as to whether their drivers don’t have GPS or even maps. She said they’re independent contractors & not all have GPS; but implied that they should have maps. When I said Joe didn’t seem to have them, she said she’d pull some out & make sure he had them before he leaves. God give me strength.)
Between the disdain for my paltry load & his cluelessness about delivery, I’m really not getting a warm & fuzzy feeling for this guy. The one thing I know is that my moving tsuris is not over.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Moving on (Pt. 6)
Seattle is biting my butt all the way to the end.
Because there aren’t enough tranquilizers in the world (human or animal) to get me to drive 900 miles with a crying cat in my car, I arranged to board Pele for the time my household goods are being packed & picked up, as well as the three more days until I take possession of my new apartment.
Understand, I’m paying handsomely for the service.
Plan (confirmed) was to take Pele to an animal hospital yesterday, between 0700 & 0900 to drop her off. There would be a vet tech there during that time (& then later in the afternoon) to receive her. I was to call her mobile number when I got there & she’d come out & let us in.
So imagine my reaction when I arrived as planned, at 0700, to find no one there. In fact, Ashley was in Yakima, a four-hour drive from Seattle. & whoever was taking her place wasn’t due to be there until 0830. So they had a different plan from the one I’d confirmed with the pet shipping service.
At first Ashley didn’t seem to feel any sense of urgency, but she did persevere & eventually someone drifted in about 0745. My confidence wasn’t raised much, however, when she seemed surprised when I handed over Pele’s health certificate. “Do we take this?”
Uh, yeah—else how do the airlines know she’s certified healthy & able to travel?
Well, okay, done—only losing me about 30 minutes in a day that was supposed to be devoted to de-staging & organizing my stuff for the packers today.
I had this well in progress when my agent called to tell me someone wanted to show the house between 1300 & 1430, which is kind of a long window. Er, okay—but you did understand that the house is no longer going to look as staged? & I have a lot of work to do to prep for the packers? I did mention this several times over the past week.
Then she called a bit later to say someone else wanted to show between 1130 & 1230, but “you don’t have to leave until they get there.”
Good thing, because they never showed.
Actually I’m not entirely happy with my agent—we had a second showing on Saturday & the showing agent had said there might be an offer. My realtor hasn’t followed up, nor has she done so with a couple of other agents who indicated more than passing interest in the place.
&, when I said that the place will need a cleaning on Wednesday, after my possessions are out of here, her response was, “Don’t you have a vacuum cleaner?”
Well, yeah—which will be packed & on its way to San José.
Oh.
By contrast, my agent in Virginia made the process of selling my house painless--he managed everything, including repairs, negotiating with contractors, communications with my tenants. I really wish he could be managing this process.
She suggested she might be able to get her cleaner to do it—however, this is the woman who was supposed to have come out to give my place a thorough cleaning back in June, for putting it on the market. Aside from being the yackiest woman I’ve ever met (a five-minute conversation went on for 23), she seemed looking for the main chance. She said she charges $20/hour; then later in the conversation, it grew to $20-$25/hour.
Oooookay. But then when the Saturday came for her to show up, I got a call from her right around the appointed time saying that she was running late. Instead of being there at 1345, she might not be there until around 1800. “But I don’t mind staying late until the job is done.”
Well, I do. I rescheduled for the next day, but once again got a call from her saying she’d be late. I told her to forget it & spent a few hours doing it myself. She obviously doesn’t understand the concept of customer service.
So when Jenny said she might get this flake to come out, my first thought was, this needs to be done immediately after I move out; this woman has no sense of urgency. Plus, Jenny told me she charges $15/hour—so her $20-$25/hour quoted in June was just her shot at opportunism.
Then, Jenny said that it turns out the cleaner is “afraid of going into Seattle”.
Well, then why would you suggest her if she’s already shown herself to be a flake, & she’s “afraid” of Seattle. Mine can’t be the first vacated house on the market needing cleaning—don’t agents have connections with services for this? All it needs is vacuuming, dusting & cleaning the mirrors.
I’m meeting my agent this evening; I’ll see what we can nail down. But, this being Seattle, I have low expectations & I’m sure they’ll be met.
Because there aren’t enough tranquilizers in the world (human or animal) to get me to drive 900 miles with a crying cat in my car, I arranged to board Pele for the time my household goods are being packed & picked up, as well as the three more days until I take possession of my new apartment.
Understand, I’m paying handsomely for the service.
Plan (confirmed) was to take Pele to an animal hospital yesterday, between 0700 & 0900 to drop her off. There would be a vet tech there during that time (& then later in the afternoon) to receive her. I was to call her mobile number when I got there & she’d come out & let us in.
So imagine my reaction when I arrived as planned, at 0700, to find no one there. In fact, Ashley was in Yakima, a four-hour drive from Seattle. & whoever was taking her place wasn’t due to be there until 0830. So they had a different plan from the one I’d confirmed with the pet shipping service.
At first Ashley didn’t seem to feel any sense of urgency, but she did persevere & eventually someone drifted in about 0745. My confidence wasn’t raised much, however, when she seemed surprised when I handed over Pele’s health certificate. “Do we take this?”
Uh, yeah—else how do the airlines know she’s certified healthy & able to travel?
Well, okay, done—only losing me about 30 minutes in a day that was supposed to be devoted to de-staging & organizing my stuff for the packers today.
I had this well in progress when my agent called to tell me someone wanted to show the house between 1300 & 1430, which is kind of a long window. Er, okay—but you did understand that the house is no longer going to look as staged? & I have a lot of work to do to prep for the packers? I did mention this several times over the past week.
Then she called a bit later to say someone else wanted to show between 1130 & 1230, but “you don’t have to leave until they get there.”
Good thing, because they never showed.
Actually I’m not entirely happy with my agent—we had a second showing on Saturday & the showing agent had said there might be an offer. My realtor hasn’t followed up, nor has she done so with a couple of other agents who indicated more than passing interest in the place.
&, when I said that the place will need a cleaning on Wednesday, after my possessions are out of here, her response was, “Don’t you have a vacuum cleaner?”
Well, yeah—which will be packed & on its way to San José.
Oh.
By contrast, my agent in Virginia made the process of selling my house painless--he managed everything, including repairs, negotiating with contractors, communications with my tenants. I really wish he could be managing this process.
She suggested she might be able to get her cleaner to do it—however, this is the woman who was supposed to have come out to give my place a thorough cleaning back in June, for putting it on the market. Aside from being the yackiest woman I’ve ever met (a five-minute conversation went on for 23), she seemed looking for the main chance. She said she charges $20/hour; then later in the conversation, it grew to $20-$25/hour.
Oooookay. But then when the Saturday came for her to show up, I got a call from her right around the appointed time saying that she was running late. Instead of being there at 1345, she might not be there until around 1800. “But I don’t mind staying late until the job is done.”
Well, I do. I rescheduled for the next day, but once again got a call from her saying she’d be late. I told her to forget it & spent a few hours doing it myself. She obviously doesn’t understand the concept of customer service.
So when Jenny said she might get this flake to come out, my first thought was, this needs to be done immediately after I move out; this woman has no sense of urgency. Plus, Jenny told me she charges $15/hour—so her $20-$25/hour quoted in June was just her shot at opportunism.
Then, Jenny said that it turns out the cleaner is “afraid of going into Seattle”.
Well, then why would you suggest her if she’s already shown herself to be a flake, & she’s “afraid” of Seattle. Mine can’t be the first vacated house on the market needing cleaning—don’t agents have connections with services for this? All it needs is vacuuming, dusting & cleaning the mirrors.
I’m meeting my agent this evening; I’ll see what we can nail down. But, this being Seattle, I have low expectations & I’m sure they’ll be met.
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