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Two Steps Forward...
Nov. 27th, 2010 03:07 pmEverything is packed and shoved into the corridor, waiting for the Man with Van, who I hired for 3:30.
...The Man with Van cannot be here until 5pm.
This is going to throw my timing off badly, thank you very much, you utter eedjits who cannot plan for London traffic on a Saturday. See, the plan was to get everything into the van by quarter to four, be in the new flat with all my boxes around five, and then head out to the Sainsbury's superstore a short bus ride away - one of those massive mega-mart things that sells everything - so I could pick up the necessaries I could have bought here but didn't want to pack and move, as well as groceries. The place is open until 10pm but at the rate this is going, an hour and a half late here is going to translate to a half-six, seven kind of time, and while that still gives me three hours, it's way later than I wanted it to be.
I understand that traffic is an issue, and at least they let me know a half-hour early, but damnit, they said three-thirty! I suppose it's better than being cancelled. And if they do that, I'm going to rip their heads off. With my teeth.
I have my book. And enough time to maybe nip to the corner shop for a bottle of cola or something. Still, my life is sitting in the corridor in boxes and not only might I be internet-less for six freakin' weeks, but my bloody movers are telling me they're going to be an hour and a half late. After I moved all the boxes into nice convenient "You don't have to drag it out of a room or anything" spot for them, too. Fuckers.
It'll all be worth it when NEW FLAT. But all the same, what a pain in the arse.
[Edit: Now we are looking at half-five because apparently someone decided to drive like an idiot on icy road and the Man with Van hasn't moved an inch in fifteen minutes. Yeesh. At least they're still planning to turn up, and this part isn't exactly their fault. Also, there was a very nervous secretary who was very relieved and rather heartened-sounding when I told her that I wasn't going to yell at her because I know it's not her fault. I have been a secretary for a very long time and know what she's going through. I am annoyed, but not at her.]
...The Man with Van cannot be here until 5pm.
This is going to throw my timing off badly, thank you very much, you utter eedjits who cannot plan for London traffic on a Saturday. See, the plan was to get everything into the van by quarter to four, be in the new flat with all my boxes around five, and then head out to the Sainsbury's superstore a short bus ride away - one of those massive mega-mart things that sells everything - so I could pick up the necessaries I could have bought here but didn't want to pack and move, as well as groceries. The place is open until 10pm but at the rate this is going, an hour and a half late here is going to translate to a half-six, seven kind of time, and while that still gives me three hours, it's way later than I wanted it to be.
I understand that traffic is an issue, and at least they let me know a half-hour early, but damnit, they said three-thirty! I suppose it's better than being cancelled. And if they do that, I'm going to rip their heads off. With my teeth.
I have my book. And enough time to maybe nip to the corner shop for a bottle of cola or something. Still, my life is sitting in the corridor in boxes and not only might I be internet-less for six freakin' weeks, but my bloody movers are telling me they're going to be an hour and a half late. After I moved all the boxes into nice convenient "You don't have to drag it out of a room or anything" spot for them, too. Fuckers.
It'll all be worth it when NEW FLAT. But all the same, what a pain in the arse.
[Edit: Now we are looking at half-five because apparently someone decided to drive like an idiot on icy road and the Man with Van hasn't moved an inch in fifteen minutes. Yeesh. At least they're still planning to turn up, and this part isn't exactly their fault. Also, there was a very nervous secretary who was very relieved and rather heartened-sounding when I told her that I wasn't going to yell at her because I know it's not her fault. I have been a secretary for a very long time and know what she's going through. I am annoyed, but not at her.]