OK, so I know some of you are anxiously (really?) awaiting part 2 of "Leaving on a jet plane," but I really have to get this all down while it's fresh in my mind. So I posted on my facebook page yesterday that we're supposed to be having our container delivered today. So exciting. I realized about 14 hours too late that I got a little bit excited about something that should be pretty straightforward... container arrives in port, clears customs, gets loaded on truck, truck drives to our building, truck gets unloaded, and stuff is delivered to our apartment. I may have missed a few things in between arriving in port and getting loaded on truck, but I'm not going to worry too much about it, because where I come into this story, the container has already cleared customs.
This is probably a good place to interject what some of you may have already deduced. I'm a little wordy. I don't really tell short stories. I kind of feel like the best parts of stories are in the details. I drive Caleb nuts because he'll tell me something in two sentences, and I'll ask him seventeen detail-oriented questions... none of which he can answer. So, feel free to stop reading at any time... it's just kind of the details in all of this that make it the soup sandwich that it is.
Anyway, that brings me to now. Here's how this morning has gone down: I had to tell Abdul (our awesome driver who takes the kids to and from school because I can't get my driver's license yet) that we gave the truck driver his name and phone number because the driver only speaks Hindi. Abdul is one of a very short list of people in Abu Dhabi whom I know well enough to ask a favor involving speaking Hindi. Abdul says he'll talk to him when he calls. Fast forward to 45 minutes ago. Abdul calls me to tell me Yousef, the driver, is almost at the security gate. I have already talked to the security guard to let him know we have a big delivery coming. As I go downstairs and walk outside, I see the truck with the container on it heading away from security. I'll give you a moment to picture the awesomeness of watching the truck with your container holding all of your belongings on it driving away.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Did you picture it? Great! So I call Abdul back. He tells me he's not sure where the guy's going... maybe to the other gate? So I hightail it to the other security gate on the other side of the complex. It's about a 5 minute walk... not far. Only it's 95 degrees outside with a "feels like" temp of 115. And 67% humidity. At NINE in the morning. So imagine my surprise, when I arrive dripping with sweat (imagine how glamorous I felt!) only to see... you guessed it... NO TRUCK! I proceed to tell that security guard that a truck is coming for us and please let him in. Then I head back to my building and come upstairs. I change my shirt, because, no lie, I am sweating more than I did in some basketball practices I've been through.
This is when I call Caleb and ask him to call the "Boss Man" to figure out what's going on. Caleb calls me back in a few short minutes to tell me the truck is at security again, and they won't let him in. Only this time, I grow a brain and decide to look off the balcony to check. I'm sure you'll be as surprised as I was to find that there wasn't a truck at the security gate I could see. Nor was there a truck waiting at the two security gates to the island, nor was there one waiting at the gate at the island next to us. There was one gate that I couldn't see, the one I had to walk to before, but there was no way I was going to walk to that one and have to change my shirt yet again. I probably would have redlined the stinkometer after that. Instead, I decided to go downstairs and talk to my friend Fez Ali. He's the concierge guy at another building. I mentioned him on facebook one time. He saved our beach towels from almost certain demise. But that's another story for another day. I am happier than a pig in poop to announce that I now know not one, but TWO people in Abu Dhabi who speak Hindi and will translate for me. The bonus is that I can understand Fez Ali way better. He called the driver and got the scoop. The driver is parked somewhere in a "good location." I honestly have no idea what "good location" in this situation even means, but I nod my head anyway. Apparently, security won't allow a big truck with a container loaded on it to deliver to our buildings because the roads are too narrow and too hard to maneuver. So now, Yousef is waiting in that "good location" for a smaller truck. They will then offload a small truckoad of stuff at a time, drive it through security, unload it for several trips in the elevator, and deliver it to our apartment on the 9th floor. After Fez Ali passes on all this information to me, I get a call from Abdul. He tells me to come outside, as he's in front of our building. Keep in mind that I only ever asked him to give Yousef directions if he got lost. Abdul had gone way above and beyond. Anyway, I walk over to his van, and he's got two guys from the delivery company with him, only he didn't really tell me who they were, so after a few awkward "Will you please speak slowers" on my part, I found out they were with the delivery company. In a nutshell, they tell me the same thing Fez Ali just told me.
Since there's nothing more I can do, I give one of the delivery company guys my phone number and tell him to call me when they need me to come downstairs.
A few hours pass, and I get a phone call. I come downstairs and see this, in all its glory:
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And then I see things like this:
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While this might not seem like a big deal, it is. That box is supposed to be not only closed, but taped shut. And see that greasy stain down the side? Yeah, not supposed to be there. As a matter of fact, there were a lot of boxes with greasy stains on them, some much worse than this one. Seriously, after I started wondering/worrying what had been ruined, I reminded myself that this was all just stuff. I was just hoping it wasn't a box of scrapbooks or photo albums with greasy stains on it.
There were about six guys helping altogether. About four of them were helping unload the truck. Someone was also loading the elevator and bringing the stuff up so he could unload it on our floor, and there was one guy upstairs with me... he was going back and forth from the elevator landing, where an elevator load of stuff was sitting unloaded for him to move into my apartment. Overall, it was a more efficient process than I ever expected given the fiasco earlier in the day. He was pretty good about delivering stuff to the proper rooms, and he was very nice and polite. The only problem is, THIS is how most of our stuff looked once it was sitting inside our apartment:
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And this is only a small sample of photos. I decided to just stop taking them... it was too depressing. It looks as if someone played a game of hopscotch across the tops of the boxes. Or maybe it was just more fun to see how far they could be thrown from four feet up in the container straight down to the ground. Any box that you see in the photos that has tan-colored shipping tape on it has been opened by customs. I have no problems with customs doing their jobs. Trust me. The only thing is that they opened almost every single box they inspected FROM THE BOTTOM. So my boxes that were labeled on top and were haphazardly taped back together had to be turned over again to figure out where they went. Not to mention, things that were in one box when they left my house were in completely different boxes when they got here. Believe it or not, in the 30 or so boxes I've unpacked, there have only been a handful of broken things. Some of you will mourn these with me: my neti-pot (also known as my self-waterboarding device), my DARK BROWN because it's been used so much Pampered Chef stone, a bowl that was part of a set of china I got from my mom (replaceable). There is also a small, broken piece of wood on the hutch that my great-grandfather made, but I think it could be repaired. The one thing I thought I had gotten a photo of but didn't: our fireproof safe. They ripped the hinges off of it to make sure there was nothing inside that shouldn't be, although now, as I'm sure you can guess, it's worthless. All I could think of as a caption to a photo of a safe with the hinges broken off is from lolcatz: "Ur doin' it wrong!"
I am interested to see what other little surprises I discover as I continue to unpack. The most exciting part of the whole process, though, is that we can now start to make this apartment look more like our home instead of this:
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It looks like a sad little bachelor pad with the soccer mom chair and the inflatable chair and ottoman, doesn't it?
This is probably a good place to interject what some of you may have already deduced. I'm a little wordy. I don't really tell short stories. I kind of feel like the best parts of stories are in the details. I drive Caleb nuts because he'll tell me something in two sentences, and I'll ask him seventeen detail-oriented questions... none of which he can answer. So, feel free to stop reading at any time... it's just kind of the details in all of this that make it the soup sandwich that it is.
Anyway, that brings me to now. Here's how this morning has gone down: I had to tell Abdul (our awesome driver who takes the kids to and from school because I can't get my driver's license yet) that we gave the truck driver his name and phone number because the driver only speaks Hindi. Abdul is one of a very short list of people in Abu Dhabi whom I know well enough to ask a favor involving speaking Hindi. Abdul says he'll talk to him when he calls. Fast forward to 45 minutes ago. Abdul calls me to tell me Yousef, the driver, is almost at the security gate. I have already talked to the security guard to let him know we have a big delivery coming. As I go downstairs and walk outside, I see the truck with the container on it heading away from security. I'll give you a moment to picture the awesomeness of watching the truck with your container holding all of your belongings on it driving away.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Did you picture it? Great! So I call Abdul back. He tells me he's not sure where the guy's going... maybe to the other gate? So I hightail it to the other security gate on the other side of the complex. It's about a 5 minute walk... not far. Only it's 95 degrees outside with a "feels like" temp of 115. And 67% humidity. At NINE in the morning. So imagine my surprise, when I arrive dripping with sweat (imagine how glamorous I felt!) only to see... you guessed it... NO TRUCK! I proceed to tell that security guard that a truck is coming for us and please let him in. Then I head back to my building and come upstairs. I change my shirt, because, no lie, I am sweating more than I did in some basketball practices I've been through.
This is when I call Caleb and ask him to call the "Boss Man" to figure out what's going on. Caleb calls me back in a few short minutes to tell me the truck is at security again, and they won't let him in. Only this time, I grow a brain and decide to look off the balcony to check. I'm sure you'll be as surprised as I was to find that there wasn't a truck at the security gate I could see. Nor was there a truck waiting at the two security gates to the island, nor was there one waiting at the gate at the island next to us. There was one gate that I couldn't see, the one I had to walk to before, but there was no way I was going to walk to that one and have to change my shirt yet again. I probably would have redlined the stinkometer after that. Instead, I decided to go downstairs and talk to my friend Fez Ali. He's the concierge guy at another building. I mentioned him on facebook one time. He saved our beach towels from almost certain demise. But that's another story for another day. I am happier than a pig in poop to announce that I now know not one, but TWO people in Abu Dhabi who speak Hindi and will translate for me. The bonus is that I can understand Fez Ali way better. He called the driver and got the scoop. The driver is parked somewhere in a "good location." I honestly have no idea what "good location" in this situation even means, but I nod my head anyway. Apparently, security won't allow a big truck with a container loaded on it to deliver to our buildings because the roads are too narrow and too hard to maneuver. So now, Yousef is waiting in that "good location" for a smaller truck. They will then offload a small truckoad of stuff at a time, drive it through security, unload it for several trips in the elevator, and deliver it to our apartment on the 9th floor. After Fez Ali passes on all this information to me, I get a call from Abdul. He tells me to come outside, as he's in front of our building. Keep in mind that I only ever asked him to give Yousef directions if he got lost. Abdul had gone way above and beyond. Anyway, I walk over to his van, and he's got two guys from the delivery company with him, only he didn't really tell me who they were, so after a few awkward "Will you please speak slowers" on my part, I found out they were with the delivery company. In a nutshell, they tell me the same thing Fez Ali just told me.
Since there's nothing more I can do, I give one of the delivery company guys my phone number and tell him to call me when they need me to come downstairs.
A few hours pass, and I get a phone call. I come downstairs and see this, in all its glory:
.JPG)
And then I see things like this:
.JPG)
While this might not seem like a big deal, it is. That box is supposed to be not only closed, but taped shut. And see that greasy stain down the side? Yeah, not supposed to be there. As a matter of fact, there were a lot of boxes with greasy stains on them, some much worse than this one. Seriously, after I started wondering/worrying what had been ruined, I reminded myself that this was all just stuff. I was just hoping it wasn't a box of scrapbooks or photo albums with greasy stains on it.
There were about six guys helping altogether. About four of them were helping unload the truck. Someone was also loading the elevator and bringing the stuff up so he could unload it on our floor, and there was one guy upstairs with me... he was going back and forth from the elevator landing, where an elevator load of stuff was sitting unloaded for him to move into my apartment. Overall, it was a more efficient process than I ever expected given the fiasco earlier in the day. He was pretty good about delivering stuff to the proper rooms, and he was very nice and polite. The only problem is, THIS is how most of our stuff looked once it was sitting inside our apartment:
.JPG)
.JPG)
.JPG)
.JPG)
.JPG)
.JPG)
And this is only a small sample of photos. I decided to just stop taking them... it was too depressing. It looks as if someone played a game of hopscotch across the tops of the boxes. Or maybe it was just more fun to see how far they could be thrown from four feet up in the container straight down to the ground. Any box that you see in the photos that has tan-colored shipping tape on it has been opened by customs. I have no problems with customs doing their jobs. Trust me. The only thing is that they opened almost every single box they inspected FROM THE BOTTOM. So my boxes that were labeled on top and were haphazardly taped back together had to be turned over again to figure out where they went. Not to mention, things that were in one box when they left my house were in completely different boxes when they got here. Believe it or not, in the 30 or so boxes I've unpacked, there have only been a handful of broken things. Some of you will mourn these with me: my neti-pot (also known as my self-waterboarding device), my DARK BROWN because it's been used so much Pampered Chef stone, a bowl that was part of a set of china I got from my mom (replaceable). There is also a small, broken piece of wood on the hutch that my great-grandfather made, but I think it could be repaired. The one thing I thought I had gotten a photo of but didn't: our fireproof safe. They ripped the hinges off of it to make sure there was nothing inside that shouldn't be, although now, as I'm sure you can guess, it's worthless. All I could think of as a caption to a photo of a safe with the hinges broken off is from lolcatz: "Ur doin' it wrong!"
I am interested to see what other little surprises I discover as I continue to unpack. The most exciting part of the whole process, though, is that we can now start to make this apartment look more like our home instead of this:
.JPG)
.JPG)
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