Tonight I have a date with L.R. Thank God I was up until 4:30 this morning on a caffeine high—otherwise I’d be well-rested and sparkling.
Ugh.
Also, I am moving in three days and need to find new movers. I was going to use Viva Moving, but they moved my friend D.R. yesterday and he was very disappointed. After quoting him three hours and $210, they took ten hours and charged him God only knows how much (he wouldn’t tell me). Since they quoted me six hours, I assume this means they will actually take either thirteen hours (if the final time was arrived at by addition of 7) or 20 hours (if the final time was arrived at by multiplication by a factor of 3.33). Either way, it’s unacceptable. They should be called Diva Moving. Or Evil Moving.
Possessed by the spirit of vengeance on D.R.’s behalf, I called their Manhattan number at 4:00 this morning, hoping it would be somebody’s home number and I would wake him up and harrass him. Unfortunately the person who answered the phone sounded wide awake. I stuttered for a moment and told him I’d have to call him back. Evidently they have caller ID; they called me at 7:30 this morning (just when I had finally fallen asleep—interrupting, in fact, a particularly vivid and interesting dream I was having about Ricky Martin and me and a vacuum pump) and asked my machine if they could help me.
I feel robbed. I mean, did the Furies have to deal with caller ID?
I hate everyone.
Except possibly L.R., whom I hope to love once I meet him. With any luck he will really go for the cranky, washed-out, panicked look.
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