Yesterday, Paul (previously referenced as P.B.) needed some muscle to help him move some furniture from a U-Haul truck to his fifth-story apartment. So, naturally, he thought to ask the least physically-fit person he knows (myself), and Simon (not so small in stature), to help out.
Ironically, the grand adventure started when we tried to find someplace to PARK the 17-foot U-Haul. The side lot was double-parked and there was no-chance-in-ATL that we'd be able to get it back out once it was in. The complex next door had an alley that seemed to be there for maintenance trucks, but was on the opposite side of the doors on Paul's building. The last option was to park in a parking lot down the road, not entirely practical, but we weren't the only one's moving, either.
The fun REALLY started when we tried unloading the truck. Three guys, a hand truck, and 2.5 brains between the three of us (don't ask who was missing half a brain). We piled the sectionals and pillows high, and then I carried a couple random bags, an the legs to Paul's grandmothers dining table. Apparently, I was carrying 2 things too many (because that's how many I dropped). The table mount fell out of it's place under my arm, and cracked against the curb. The end of one of the legs sheared off perfectly. "Um, Paul?" I stammered.
"What, did you scratch it....oh. Dang." I felt like I had practically killed a part of his grandmother, myself. Fortunately, for me, Simon (the other helping hand) was a woodworker, and offered to fix it for him at his wood shop. I was silent for a little while, not knowing how much Paul was disappointed, so I thought it better not to say anything, and concentrate on not futzing anything else up.
We did a motley job, stacking things on the hand truck, and we had to unload and reload the cart several times to get it into the garage, through the security gates, through the hallway, in to the elevator, and finally, through the apartment door.
On the next load, Simon dropped the tabletop (part of the same table that I broke the legs on) and it smacked the ground pretty hard. Suddenly, I didn't feel so bad about what I had done. Both Simon and I were in the dawg house (and that's never a good place to be, in the midst of Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets).
The rest of the move was pretty uneventfully, and Paul treated Simon and I to dinner, as a way of thanking us [for not breaking anything else]. It was starting to get dark, and the moving was done, so Simon said his goodbye and went home.
So, now begins the adventure. Paul's brother, Jake, told us that the U-Haul on Peachtree was expecting the truck to arrive there the following day. Paul thought it good to drop the truck there tonight, since he wasn't exactly the age that rental services require the drivers to be.
At 9am, we set out, me in my Element and Paul in the U-Haul. We couldn't find the location that was supposed to be on Peachtree, so we called Jake back. Apparently Jake had a memory lapse, and didn't know where the truck was really supposed to go. Paul, not having anywhere to leave the truck for the night, decided that we would just drop it off at the nearest location. Little did we know that would entail just a little bit more effort than we had planned.
The first location we looked up didn't exist. Whether it had been demolished, or it had just been destroyed by termites, we didn't know. We didn't take any chances, so we moved on.
The second place we went looked promising. Well, by that, I mean, there was at least a U-Haul truck out front. It looked like an abandoned service station, no lights, no key drop.
Lost in the middle of the Great Urban Seren-ghetto, we figured this might take a little more time than we thought. Paul Googled 4 more locations on his phone, and nearly exhausted his cellphone battery before I got all the results plugged into my TomTom (lifesaver). "Um, dude..."Paul said. "I don't think my phone's going to last much longer."
The lightbulb above my head turned on, and I opened the magical crates in the back of my car, searching madly for a solution. Out I pulled a pair of two-way radios and a fresh set of batteries, set a clear channel, and tossed one at Paul. He just laughed. "You WOULD, Scott. You would." He had several times questioned why I had so much junk I toted around in my car, much less, a set of two-way radios and batteries. He didn't need an answer anymore.
Since we didn't really know the areas we were headed to, we decided that "Boomer" (call-sign for Sharon, my trusty Honda Element) would be the leading vehicle to scout out the areas ahead, to make sure that Paul didn't end up in a dead-end, or in a tight spot he couldn't turn in. Needless to say, Paul still ended up getting stuck once. Boomer to the rescue!
As good as the TomTom was, it didn't give us quick enough warning in the close streets of Atlanta, nor enough time to get all the way across to the other side of the road with an Element and a 17 foot U-Haul. We missed our turns several times before we could get heading in the right direction.
The next 2 locations turned out to be duds, as well, nonexistent. At this point, Paul was getting annoyed, having a total of 24 feet of truck to maneuver through Atlanta (he's used to a 6cyl BMW 325i, not a Ford cargo truck with a Triton V10). We finally got directions when we pulled into an empty Varsity parking lot, as the employees were leaving. Turns out, there's a U-Haul on Piedmont (which Jake misunderstood for being Peachtree). Who knew? Not us.
This location was more like it. A lot full of trucks (no parking spaces, mind you), and the drop box consisted of a hole in the front glass door. We could see several keys dropped inside the door, so we thought it wouldn't hurt to leave the keys, and call it a night.
Just to show Jake what we went through, we took this picture, Paul doing a thumbs-up and pointing to our key, after we dropped it in. Paul remarked, "Suddenly, it's not exactly a "thumbs-up" that I feel like giving Jake, right now. How about a different finger? Can we take that picture again?"
Total travel time: Over 2 hours. Thanks, Jake.
