I'm Alive...
Barely, after spending the whole weekend moving, settling in and doing laundry. I still have a lot of unpacking to do and smelly clothes to wash, but I don't think I will get too much done this weekend since I will be driving my car back to MN starting tomorrow.
Moving wasn't as bad as I had expected because I hired a moving company on the recommendation of a coworker. The two guys were supposed to be at my old apt at 7 am on Saturday, but arrived late because they didn't write down my address correctly and got lost on the way. It took them about 45 minutes to load everything that I packed on to their huge truck and off we went. I rode shotgun in the front of the truck with the two movers.
Since we had a long way ahead of us towards Manhattan, I started chatting with them. They were both Chinese. The manager looked like he was between 35 to 40 years old and moved to here from Fujian in '89. His helper was probably in his late twenties, was originally from Liaoning and came in '98. They asked when I came here, where I was moving to and what I'm doing now. When I told them that I've been living in the States for 13 years, the Liaoning guy laughed and said, "You are half an ABC [American-Born Chinese] then." Then I started telling them about my job. The manager sighed and said, "Life is different when you have an education. You have a much easier job than us." I replied, "Don't worry, your kids will be just like me." He laughed and said, "My kids are still in diapers!" At one point, the helper said, "Each generation can't chi ku as the previous generation before." Now, Chi ku can be translated literally as "eat bitterness," which means, to endure hardship. I replied, "It's because each generation is living better than the one before." He nodded in agreement.
On the way to Manhattan, we had to make a stop to pick up the manager's friend, who makes furniture, and his huge cabinet. After they moved the cabinet into the truck, the manager and his friend hopped in the front. I was a bit concerned because I didn't know how all four of us would fit in the front. Then I saw the helper guy climb into the back of the truck and closed the door. I was shocked. "Isn't it really dangerous for him to be sitting in the back?" I asked the manager. He laughed and said, "Don't worry about it, we've done that before, it's not dangerous at all." Then he started telling me about how they were helping some people moving to Syracuse the night before and didn't get back to the city until 3 am. Because my move was at 7 am, he just slept in the front seat while the helper slept in the back.
Just after we got off the Queensboro bridge and into Manhattan, the manager's friend told him to change a couple of lanes to the right. The police routinely stops trucks coming off the bridge to check for bombs, he explained, as we passed a U-Haul stopped on the left side of the road being inspected by two cops. Because we were all the way on the right, the cops couldn't pull us over as easily.
When the manager came into my apartment and saw the wall that we had built to carve out a bedroom, he was pretty surprised and asked, "Is this wall legal? Did your landlord actually allow you to build this wall?" While I assured him that everything was ok, I thought it was pretty amusing that he wasn't at all concerned about driving a truck on the highway with someone else in the back sitting on nothing more than a few dirty blankets, and yet he questioned the legality of a wall in the living room.
The next hour or so consisted of me telling the movers where to place everything in the apartment. It was pretty effortless on my part.
After the moving was done, I had to ask the movers to drive me to an ATM to get some cash so I could pay them. Originally, they said I wouldn't need to tip them because they had somehow banged a hole in the headboard of my bed. I gave them $30 in tips anyways because 1.) They did a very good job overall; 2.) I was glad I didn't have to move anything because I was running on 9 hours of sleep over the two days preceding the move; 3.) the helper guy really reminded me of my er jiu (second uncle on my mother's side), who also talks kind of slow, has similar mannerisms, and is still recovering from a broken leg suffered in an accident while doing some random construction job. (When I was still in China, Er Jiu always lovingly referred to me as da er gua, or big ears, because, apparently, I had really big ears for a kid my age); 4.) They only charged $170 for the job, as opposed to the market price of $400; and 5.) They needed $30 much more than me.
Moving wasn't as bad as I had expected because I hired a moving company on the recommendation of a coworker. The two guys were supposed to be at my old apt at 7 am on Saturday, but arrived late because they didn't write down my address correctly and got lost on the way. It took them about 45 minutes to load everything that I packed on to their huge truck and off we went. I rode shotgun in the front of the truck with the two movers.
Since we had a long way ahead of us towards Manhattan, I started chatting with them. They were both Chinese. The manager looked like he was between 35 to 40 years old and moved to here from Fujian in '89. His helper was probably in his late twenties, was originally from Liaoning and came in '98. They asked when I came here, where I was moving to and what I'm doing now. When I told them that I've been living in the States for 13 years, the Liaoning guy laughed and said, "You are half an ABC [American-Born Chinese] then." Then I started telling them about my job. The manager sighed and said, "Life is different when you have an education. You have a much easier job than us." I replied, "Don't worry, your kids will be just like me." He laughed and said, "My kids are still in diapers!" At one point, the helper said, "Each generation can't chi ku as the previous generation before." Now, Chi ku can be translated literally as "eat bitterness," which means, to endure hardship. I replied, "It's because each generation is living better than the one before." He nodded in agreement.
On the way to Manhattan, we had to make a stop to pick up the manager's friend, who makes furniture, and his huge cabinet. After they moved the cabinet into the truck, the manager and his friend hopped in the front. I was a bit concerned because I didn't know how all four of us would fit in the front. Then I saw the helper guy climb into the back of the truck and closed the door. I was shocked. "Isn't it really dangerous for him to be sitting in the back?" I asked the manager. He laughed and said, "Don't worry about it, we've done that before, it's not dangerous at all." Then he started telling me about how they were helping some people moving to Syracuse the night before and didn't get back to the city until 3 am. Because my move was at 7 am, he just slept in the front seat while the helper slept in the back.
Just after we got off the Queensboro bridge and into Manhattan, the manager's friend told him to change a couple of lanes to the right. The police routinely stops trucks coming off the bridge to check for bombs, he explained, as we passed a U-Haul stopped on the left side of the road being inspected by two cops. Because we were all the way on the right, the cops couldn't pull us over as easily.
When the manager came into my apartment and saw the wall that we had built to carve out a bedroom, he was pretty surprised and asked, "Is this wall legal? Did your landlord actually allow you to build this wall?" While I assured him that everything was ok, I thought it was pretty amusing that he wasn't at all concerned about driving a truck on the highway with someone else in the back sitting on nothing more than a few dirty blankets, and yet he questioned the legality of a wall in the living room.
The next hour or so consisted of me telling the movers where to place everything in the apartment. It was pretty effortless on my part.
After the moving was done, I had to ask the movers to drive me to an ATM to get some cash so I could pay them. Originally, they said I wouldn't need to tip them because they had somehow banged a hole in the headboard of my bed. I gave them $30 in tips anyways because 1.) They did a very good job overall; 2.) I was glad I didn't have to move anything because I was running on 9 hours of sleep over the two days preceding the move; 3.) the helper guy really reminded me of my er jiu (second uncle on my mother's side), who also talks kind of slow, has similar mannerisms, and is still recovering from a broken leg suffered in an accident while doing some random construction job. (When I was still in China, Er Jiu always lovingly referred to me as da er gua, or big ears, because, apparently, I had really big ears for a kid my age); 4.) They only charged $170 for the job, as opposed to the market price of $400; and 5.) They needed $30 much more than me.
posted by Gary at
9:47 AM
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