Your worst/funniest moving story...

I was reminded about when my ex made a cake for the packing people to snack on and several weeks later, we found the cake wrapped and packed in a moving box.

Anything similar, good, bad or funny?

 

Not mine, but a friend was moving from one place to another in SC. The movers showed up looking like the Wailers. The head Rasta looked around his living room and told him, "Nobody told us about all this glass, mon."
Hilarity ensued.
I was bolting a rental in college once and tossed my mattress off a third-floor balcony, nearly killing my girlfriend at the time.

 

A buddy and I were moving out of a college rental and told that all of our refuse -- and anything left behind -- had to fit in the dumpster.

What about this couch, we said. It was a hid-a-bed monstrosity that I'd moved out of an old girlfriend's place as an errand of mercy. And it was fugly. No fucking way I was taking this thing anywhere. It weighed roughly 850 pounds. And this place was a college rental apartment complex. Surely you have some sort of procedure for it we leave something behind, right. Feel free to take $50 bucks or whatever off our security deposit if you'll get rid of it.

Everything left behind has to fit in the dumpster, grumpy-ass landlady says.

So my buddy and I went to work on that fucker in the parking lot of the apartment complex. Using only a steak knife, a claw hammer, a case of beer and righteous indignation, we had that fucker in the dumpster in two hours.

They tried sending us a threatening letter about it, and I sent back a one sentence response.

"It fit in the dumpster."

 

She later died in a kiln accident at Emily Dickenson College

 

that minx.

 

While I was in the Navy, moving from Newport News to New London, we had a 1910 player piano, complete with iron bellows. This sumbitch was HEAVY! When the movers tried to bring the thing into our house, the thing absolutely would not fit. No way, no how. In fact, it was so heavy, while they were trying to figure things out, the piano's weight started to crack the wooden porch.

At one point they tried to throw a rope around it and haul it up and over the second-story balcony and take it in through the double-doored dining room. No luck. Still too heavy.

We ended up having to take that sucker back to Texas after I got out five years later.

 

I had both on the same move from the SW to NE. Through NM and Texas upward to Kansas on a rural road 40 miles east of Dodge City my car broke down. Called AAA through a friend but it took them a few hours to get there. Sat on the side of the road taking pictures of the pretty flowers when a statie rolls up. He gets out and we chat a bit and I tell him from whence I came, and he laughed and said he used to watch the rodeo there, and asked if I knew so and so, and I said I did a story on him. He didn't help much because he had to get going, so I was left alone again until the tow truck came and took me to Dodge City; isn't the point to get the fuck out of Dodge? Fuckers at the Ford dealership said they didn't have my part and that it'd be a few days, so I was stuck in Dodge City. What started as 2 days turned into 5. Walked the streets and spent some time at the Carnegie Libary; checked out some of the cool cobblestone roads; got drunk one day at Mom and Pop's pool hall and secretly taped convos with the locals. Went to a sports bar -- definitely Kansas State-leaning -- and went skinny-dipping with a few cuties staying at the motel. On the fourth day I went to the daily newspaper and applied, and the guy damn near hired me but he said they were probably giving the job to the applicant who interviewed just before me. The fifth day couldn't come soon enough.

I head back east again on the same road from whence I was towed. Three hundred miles later the same problem with the engine stalls the car in Eden. So I get the fuck out of Dodge only to crap out in the garden of Eden. I was ready to commit murder with my teeth by chewing someone's jugular. Luckily the car crapped out in front of a home, so I walk to the door and knock. Knock knock knock. A nice-looking milf answers and I tell her my problem and ask if I can make a call to a tower. She and her husband were about to sit down to dinner: grilled chicken and corn on the cob. They invited me to stay, which was great of them even though I stunk like a $2 crack whore and hadn't shaved in a week. An hour later the tower showed up and took me and the car to Fort Scott, near the border of Missouri. Luckily there was another Ford dealership/garage there. But it would take another few days. Apparently the Dodge City Ford fuckers didn't fix the belt/pulley system, so the Fort Scott guys had to order more parts. If you think Dodge City is boring, try staying in Fort Scott for a few days. Ho-lee shit is it barren and boring. But there was a Super Walmart and 2 smoking hotties at the Taco Bell. I told them my problems and they laughed but wanted to hang out, so they brought some kind herb to my hotel room and we smoked and skinny-dipped. If nothing else, I swam with 4 naked girls on this trip, so I had that going for me. On the day I was supposed to leave, the Ford mechanics said the part would be another 24 hours. At that point I started to laugh and just accepted my fate. I was destined to stay in Kansas for a week. On that second day I walked a mile to the Bourbon County Fair. Yeeeeee-fucking-hawwwww! Learned more about goats and sheeps and prized pigs that I ever could've imagined. Spent 6 hours there taking lots of pictures. That night the two Taco Bell girls came back to the room and we had a fun time. Great night.

Ford finally fixed the car and I bolted Kansas. The next afternoon driving on the interstate through Kansas City I noticed Kauffman Stadium. When in KC ... So I watched the Royals' first game after the All-Star break, against the Mariners. Both teams were good then. That's the year the Royals sprung from the dung of nowhere and led the division for a few months. They'd recalled Jose Lima, who went 7-0 since the recall, and he started that game against Freddie Garcia. I sat in the nosebleeds above 1st base, which was fine. It was hotter than hell. I was disshelved but relaxed enough to enjoy summertime baseball in a pretty stadium; love those waterfalls. Ichiro went 3 for 3. The thing about Kauffman is that if the Royals get 12 hits in a game, everyone in attendance gets a voucher for a dozen free donuts from Krispy Kreme (I think; can't remember). By the 6th inning Lima was blazing again, and the Royals had 12 hits. Lima pulled a groin muscle and had to leave, and when he did so did I. Got back on the interstate without getting my donut voucher.

The trip took another week, but those 8 days in Kansas and a night at Kaufffman, are a chunk of time I'll never forget. The move from Jamaica back to the states was interesting, but I'll save that for another time.

 

When I was moving from the Northwest to Texas I was driving a 16-foot truck and towing my car behind me. It was on one of those trailers where the front two wheels of the car are in the air and the back two wheels of the car on the ground.
Anyway, on a really windy day in Northern Texas I noticed the trailer was pulling harder than normal and at the next rest stop I noticed one of the wheel straps had fallen off, so I was pulling a car connected to a trailer by one strap.
I about had a heart attack in hindsight. Luckily that fucker didn't flip or I might not be posting this right now.

 

I'm living in Manhattan but starting a new gig in a nearby state in January. Problem is I'm pretty close to broke and I'd given up my car when I moved to Manhattan. I had about $700 to spare for a car, so I asked my younger brother in the nearby suburbs to find a car for me during the week with the plan that'd I'd get a check and pick up the car on Saturday with the drive to my new location on Sunday.

My brother came through with a sweet, '68 Ford Galaxy 500 in my price range. First problem: No time to register and insure vehicle before trip. Luckily, there's a license plate of unknown origin on the car. So my brother and I load it up on Sunday morning and head north on I-95 in the snow. Almost made it to the Connecticut border before I blew out a tire. Couple more problems present themselves: It's snowing, it's Sunday and I don't have a spare.

So I take off the wheel, carry it through the snow to a six-foot tall fence, heave the tire over the top, and find myself in a nice middle-class neighborhood. I knocked on a door, hoping to use a telephone (no cell phones in those days) and interrupt a big, Italian Sunday afternoon dinner in the middle of the pasta course. The gentleman was kind enough to a) take me to the only service station with repair service on a Sunday, b) wait for me, and c) bring me back to my car on the shoulder of I-95.

Whew. It seems like I'm going to make it to my first day on the job, afterall. I get the tire on the car and jump back in. My brother's been sitting in the car the whole time. A big Raiders fan, he was listening to the AFC playoff game they were playing. Of course, I go to start the damn thing and now the battery is dead, too.

Things aren't going my way at this point and it only got worse a couple minutes later when a state trooper pulls up behind me. I'm thinking jail time now because the car is unregistered and uninsured with a license plate that wasn't mine. Fortunately, the trooper never checks any of that. Instead, he's too busy getting mad and yelling at me for not pulling the car further off the shoulder. He helps me push the car completely off the shoulder, calls AAA and takes off.

AAA comes, boosts the battery, and off we went. Got to the destination about four hours later than anticipated but in plenty of time to unpack and spend several hours drinking at the neighborhood bar near my new apartment.

 

ummmmmm.....

 

Shouldn't there be text after your "ummmmmmm...." ??

 

I want to know more about the skinny dipping. Why don't you regale us with those stories?
In the hotel pools or a local watering hole? Any action?