The name of the game is Progress!

I was listening to ABBA and the song “The Name of the Game” is in my head.

No pictures today folks.  What?  Do you really want to see what the inside of a messy apartment looks like?  No people, that’s not how I roll.  The first real photos of this apartment will be once the boxes have been cleared out.  I have to tell you that this feels like April again.  Except D is here.  Except he leaves tomorrow for Paris.  Thank GOD he’s only gone for the day because digging out of this pile up is not my idea of a good time.  But let me backtrack a little.  Let’s talk about what happened on Monday, the day our 138 boxes of stuff arrived.

I should also tell you that D had already received a call from ye olde moving company confirming the scheduled delivery of our stuff.  D, being the lovely man that he is, told the woman that we live on the 2nd floor but the movers cannot use the elevator.  (It’s one of those tiny ‘hey, you’re in France what did you expect?’ elevators.)  Both he and I know that movers in this city have that little elevator thing that they use to send deliveries to the upper floors where a window, a balcony, or a coursive can receive said delivery.

That’s how the fun started.  Ye olde moving company tells us that it will cost us an additional $600 to “rent” said external elevator.  Umm, HELLO!  You’re a moving company!  Don’t you own one?

They don’t know D like I know him and he wasn’t about to fork out another centime.  And yes, they relented and said they would “absorb the charges”.  Right.

Monday morning, D and I woke up at 7 am and had a quick brekkie and got ready for the day ahead.  The movers were scheduled to arrive at 8:30 am.

The first mover, let’s call him The Brain, called and said that he was outside.  He didn’t press the doorbell because our names weren’t listed.  That’s what he said anyway, until D had him read the names he saw on the wall next to the buzzers.  Oh, those names!

The Brain decided they would use the elevator after all — despite the notice from the board saying the elevator isn’t to be used for moving.  He left and D and I got back to waiting.

Then we got another call.  This time I think it was Pinky calling.  He needed to know how to get to the apartment building.  I guess he had no map nor GPS.  This bodes well.

At long last, Pinky and the Brain show up.  They had to park the big truck on a hill and take a smaller truck down to the apartment building.  By this point in time I didn’t really care if they had to walk every item from Marseille.  I just wanted my stuff.

From our vantage point on the coursive, the little truck was spewing cardboard.  The front steps of our building was being littered with boxes and furniture wrapped in moving paper.  It was great.

That’s when the crazy shouting and screaming in French started.  I kid you not.  It was absolutely insane in a crazy-funny way.  Madame A was shouting at Pinky because he was holding up the elevator; our janitor/cleaner wanted to let the Brain know that the boxes can’t stay there; Madame B was called — she’s part of the board — and she was shouting and trying to calm everyone down.

D and I retreated inside.

We did sort things out with Madame B and the board.  Pinky continued to use the elevator and it was okay.  The janitor was informed that we knew what to do with the cardboard boxes and we wouldn’t leave them lying about.  Madame A, however, had another issue.  The Brain had parked the small truck right by the entrance to the building.  On the other side of the driveway, and still by the entrance, was Madame B’s little Peugeot.  Along came Madame C, in a rush and obviously not patient enough to wait for the Brain to move the truck.  She tried to squeeze her little car through the gap.  She was not successful.  She scratched Madame A’s car.  She then tried to tell the Brain that it was his fault.  He told her that he wasn’t driving.  She then tried to blame D, who happened to be downstairs at the time, who asked her how could it be his fault when he wasn’t driving.

Yeah, you gotta love Mondays.

By 12:30 pm everything was in the apartment and the papers were signed.

Monday feels like light years ago instead of just days ago.  Right now, I may sound a little beaten down but it’s because I’m tired.  My feet hurt from walking back and forth trying to figure out where to put stuff but thankfully the kitchen is done.  The pantry looks like a mish-mash of baking items, spices, pastas, and table ware.  We had to rethink one closet too.  It’s now the bar.  It’s where D keeps his liquor and gadgets.  The fact that we have 2.5 boxes of glasses still to unpack means we have to buy another piece of furniture.  (Yeah, more shopping!)

I just decided that I will take a positive tone moving forward.  D and I will get the apartment sorted out by the weekend.  We have boxes to move to the cave — we’ll get that done on Friday.  After that, it’s smooth sailing.

Oh, we have a temporary fix to our pigeon/turtle-dove issue:  hanging CDs.  So far so good.  This seems to work but I think they’ve also learned to fear our presence and since we’re always home they tend to stay away.  So yeah, everything is good.  All fruits ripe!

And, my little brother comes to visit next week.  It’s a short visit, only 3 days really, but he’s our first visitor and I couldn’t be happier.  (He’s not so little by the way.  He’s a grown man but he’ll always be my little brother.)

So yeah, everything is good.  In my head I’m picturing Milhouse from The Simpsons and he’s saying “everything’s coming up Milhouse!”  That’s how I feel right now:  everything’s coming up Tanya!

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Categories: sanity/insanity

Author:Tanya in Transition

I am a woman in transition. I left my job of 13 years to find happiness and self-fulfillment...in France!

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  1. A Taste of Garlic » Tanya in Transition - September 6, 2010

    […] In no particular order Tanya manages to Lock herself out of her Apartment (she pretends that she did it on purpose but I know better!), buys water pistols so as to have fun gunning down the pigeons brave enough to venture her way and listens to The Name of the Game by Abba! […]

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