We were up early again, this time to pick up the rental truck. We had booked a rental tuck from Europcar pretty much like this one. It was almost brand new with less than 10,000 kms on the clock. Very impressive! Driving something this size was quite an experience, but it was automatic which helped markedly. This was a small truck by any real standards, but seemed huge to me. It gave me a whole new level of respect for the skills of truck drivers.
The removalists had arrived after we’d left to pick up the truck, and when we got back I spotted the men hanging about not doing anything. I asked why they hadn’t started work. “There was no one here,” someone said, “and didn’t know what to do.” It would seem that Emily didn’t pass on our message to the men to say we’d be late, picking up our rental truck, and that they should start without us. Emily seems incompetent. I’m beginning to hate Wridgeways.
At least the men were on site and ready to go. They had brought a utility with them, and the lolly-pop men had arrived too. The plan was to drive their ute to the top of the driveway, load it with stuff, and then drive it down the drive and to an adjacent street where the truck was parked, and from there they did a swap from the ute to the truck. And presumably, the lolly-pop men held slow signs when the ute was entering or leaving the driveway. They were slow at first as the ticketing was being completed and while they got used to driving up and down the drive, but the pace quickened.
It was a frantic day.
S cleared out the attic, and passed furniture and boxes down the stairs to me. Funny how I’d forgotten how things got up there in the first place, when trying to get things down. Were they assembled or disassembled prior to putting them up there? I was washing out compost bins, coiling up garden hoses, and collecting garden tools. A lot of this stuff should have been done before, but there didn’t seem to be time.
We have an antique wardrobe. A brilliantly conceived piece where the top, bottom, back, mirror, and doors all separate for transport, and everything is held together with specially made wooden wedges and brackets. The wardrobe fell apart as one of the men tried to disassemble it. He said he knew what to do, but obviously he didn't have a clue. Then someone carrying part of the disassembled wardrobe on his shoulder scraped the polished wooden surface of the linen press while walking through the hallway. Hired help.
I was following this guy and saw him scratching the woodwork. He was unaware of what he’d done. I quickly grabbed the trailing end of it to steady it as he went. “Have you been working for Wridways long?” I asked. “No, it’s my first time,” and added, “and it’ll probably be my last.” This was probably a rather good plan if people’s houses and property is to be protected from this guy's destructive approach. Wridgways were dumb for hiring such sloppy, inexperienced people.
I asked one of the men who looked like a foreman not to pack my wheel barrow and hand truck, as I’d be using them to shift the pot plants into our rental truck. And then I saw the wheel barrow and hand truck being packed. “Oh, you want to keep them do you,” the same guy questioned. Thick as a brick.
Then later they made lots of use of our hand truck, as well as their own? Okay, whatever helps. I asked them not to pack the table tennis table. It was going to be used in our rental truck, opened up as a large shelf to store items on top as well as underneath it. And then later I found it missing and already loaded. It was unloaded. I don’t think they were happy, but they didn’t seem to be listening. They had packed a dresser but had left its mirror behind.
I was up and down the driveway checking that they were taking the correct things. Every time I did this I'd see our rental truck parked across the road, doing nothing. And every time I saw it I thought: I'm paying for that and getting no use from it. That's because of Wridgways.
S had organised some morning tea and beer for men to snack on as they went, but few seem interested. I offered a cuppa to the lolly-pop men. They had a lonely job, afer all. One of them took up my offer, but I was dissappointed at the end of the day to discover that either the mug had been 'pocketed' or thrown away.
At the end of the day, Wridgways wanted to charge $40 for the rent of the witches’ hats that the lolly-pop men had put on the road. I refused to pay it. I don’t think S paid it. What was that about: let’s see if we can fleece these bunnies for more money. Oh, I really hate Wridgways.
As the removalist had finished early, I asked the lolly-pop men if they’d stay while I loaded my truck. No, they couldn’t help; they had been hired by Wridgways, and they all left together, but added that their contract started at 7.00am, and at 3.00pm they’d soon be on overtime. I wheel barrowed the pants across the street on my own.
I should say, in fairness, that I was carrying a particularly heavy pot plant down the drive on the hand truck. Perhaps it looked as though the weight was beyond me, and I got some help from this one guy. It was appreciated. He was a pleasant guy, but by and large the rest didn’t give a damn, and departed as soon as they could. Anyway, while both of us were pushing the hand truck across the street, I asked this guy what it was like working for Wridgways. “I don’t work for Wridgways. I’m a contractor,” he replied.
We finished packing our own truck just as nightfall hit. After a day like that, the last thing you want to do is a couple of hours of loading heavy pot plants. It was a great saving to have shifted the pots part way down the block on the day before.
So, with S in the MR2 and packed to the brim, and me in the truck we set off for Canberra. We were both tired and despite wanting to rest up we had to hit the road.
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