Moving is awesome.  But only if you enjoy the feeling of being stabbed repeatedly in the the head with a table leg. Then feeling better. Then being stabbed again. Then having this happen over and over again so much that any time somebody mentions the word moving, or move, or box you duck, cover, curl up into the fetal position and gently cry, I don’t want it, I don’t want it, again and again.

We moved more than 2 months ago. The government paid for this because we were moving into base housing and so the movers came to our house and threw everything in boxes and then drove to our new house 10 miles away and threw everything out of the boxes and broke some junk.  They KNEW they broke stuff and didn’t even tell me. Also, they packed their cigarettes in with my toiletries (I don’t smoke), left bottles laying around with spent cigarettes in them (again, I don’t smoke), and left trash all in my yard at the old house and at this new one. Also, they failed to fully unpack us and I had to call and complain for them to come back and finish.
Yeah. I know.
Before the moving team left, head mover guy left me with some claim forms to fill out incase we found damaged goods. He said that I was not to file the claim with the Navy but I was to send the claim to the mover’s office – to the address on the form – within 70 days. About two weeks ago, on day 58, I had my claim forms filled out and ready to go and I called the company to make sure I was doing everything right. The call went something like this.

Me: I have my claim form ready and want to make sure that I’m sending it to the correct address.

Her: You don’t send that here.  You have to send that to the Navy.

Me: The moving guy said to send it to you guys.

Her: Oh posh. Those guys don’t know anything.
She was kind of chuckling.

Me: Oh.
I wasn’t surprised by this announcement.

Her: Look in the upper corner of the form. There should be an address. You are to send the form to that address.

Me: Okay.
I rattled off the address really quick.

Her: Oh. That’s our address. I guess you’re supposed to send the form here.

So I did. And I heard nothing back. So, on day 70 I called them to make sure they did receive it because, dang it, I was getting my full value replacement costs.  And here is how that conversation went.

Me: Hello. I sent in a claim form two weeks ago and wanted to make sure you received it.

Her: The claims person is out of the office until tomorrow. I can take a message.

Me: Well, today is day 70 and I really need to know that y’all received my form.

Her: Hold on. I’ll peek on his desk.

Me: Thanks.

Her: Yes. We received it last week, however, this isn’t the right form.

This is how wars get started, people.

Not only did head moving guy AND the gal on the phone both tell me to send in THAT SPECIFIC PAPERWORK, but apparently Mr. Claims Guy had my paperwork, my WRONG paperwork sitting on his desk for more than a week without calling me or anything about me needing to fill out and send in a different form.

And why did the mover give me the wrong form in the first place?  Was it because he knew the piano was broken? The full size electric concert piano with weighted keys that we bought USED for $750?

Well played moving guy. Well played.

But I’m still getting my money.

Today, after yet another call to the mover’s office, I got the new form they mailed to me filled out and in the mailbox but who knows what’s going to happen next. Because the only thing I’m absolutely sure about right now is that all six of my boys will look at me with slack mouths when I ask them who is responsible for the soaked dish cloths left in random places. Like in the corner of the hallway, in the downstairs bathroom, in a ziploc baggie under the kitchen sink….

And why?

Filed under: we took an adventure

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