Originally when I moved to northern Ontario in 1991 my plan had been to stay for a few years and then hightail it to a warmer latitude. A year later I got married. The following year we started having kids… . One amazing decade later Jan and I realized we were approaching a major crossroads in our lives. If we stayed in the north much longer, we’d probably never leave. We had a beautiful home, a great circle of friends and satisfying careers. When she wasn’t busy being an elementary school principal Jan took courses, participated in church activities and directed the local community choir. I cycled, snowmobiled, snowboarded, went on canoe trips and wrote. Our daughters were happy with their school lives and extracurricular activities. Why on earth would we ever want to leave? Three words: our extended family. Both sets of parents, as well as Jan’s only sister and her family, lived in the Winnipeg area, and we missed them. We wanted our girls to be able to spend more time with their grandparents, aunt, uncle and cousins. We also wanted to be around to assist our parents as they grew older and began meeting new life challenges. In the end, after much soul-searching we decided to pack up the homestead and point our wagons west. But the little town with the polar bears and swans will forever hold a special place in our hearts.
“ We Put the K in Kwality!”
July 13, 2004
Dear Kwality Mooovers,
Greetings from Winnipeg. As you know, recently your company moved my family’s belongings from northern Ontario to Winnipeg. Although I’m sure Kwality Mooovers usually does stellar work, unfortunately this particular move did not go so smoothly. The following is a list of some of the problems we encountered:
I suspect your employee Billy-Bob (“Moooving Consultant”) didn’t take his Ritalin the day he came to survey the contents of our house, because he certainly didn’t appear to be paying attention to anything. Nevertheless, his quote of $7,738.01 was better than your competitor’s so we awarded the contract to your company.
Rather than being packed on June 28 and moved on June 29 as I had stipulated when I booked the move, we were erroneously scheduled to be packed on June 29 and moved on June 30 instead.
The “packing crew” sent to our house on June 29 consisted of one 67-year-old woman who had been sweet-talked out of retirement. She had been given instructions to pack all of our breakables in the morning and then drive to a home in another community to do their packing in the afternoon. She took one look at the number of items in our house and immediately telephoned to cancel her afternoon assignment. Despite putting in a solid day’s work she was unable to finish the job because it was simply far too much for one person. My wife and I had to work well into the night in order to complete the packing.
On June 30 the moving team arrived more than two hours late with a semi-trailer that was already half-filled with someone else’s furniture. It therefore came as no surprise later in the day when they ran out of space in the trailer for our belongings. As your company was unable to procure any other vehicles that day, they had to cram the overflow into our garage. While they were busy doing that, one of the movers (a jolly fellow with no shirt who spent much of the day drinking beer) broke our most expensive lamp. Several other items got badly scratched, dinged, and stained during the transfer process. After the crew finally departed, a subsequent tour of our home revealed a host of overlooked articles. My wife and I had to move these items to the garage ourselves.
Although we had been promised the movers would be finished by 1:00 p.m. at the latest, they in fact did not leave until after 9:30 p.m. This forced us to alter our travel plans and forfeit the hotel reservations we had made for Thunder Bay. We also had to ask the new owner of our home to postpone his possession date, which was a nuisance for him.
Due to the various delays our July 1 Canada Day plans with family and friends in Winnipeg were ruined.
Shortly after our arrival in Winnipeg I was notified that Billy-Bob had underestimated the weight of the shipment by approximately 4,000 pounds and we would have to pay $11,841.44 on delivery instead of the $7,738.01 originally quoted. This represented an astounding 53 percent markup! I immediately contacted your head office about this mind-boggling discrepancy and was told the only way the driver would release our furniture would be if we paid him the previously agreed upon amount plus an additional 10 percent. I was also advised your company’s CEO and I would have to “work out the difference.” When I called your chief executive about the matter he said (and I quote) “Don’t worry about it – we just want you to be happy!” Bobby McFerrin much?
Instead of arriving on July 3 at 9:00 a.m., the moving truck didn’t show up until July 4 at noon. This was highly inconvenient because my wife had to leave Winnipeg on the morning of the 4th to attend a course, so she was not able to be present for the initial unloading and unpacking.
Only two people were sent to do the unpacking. One was an elderly man and the other was a teenager. They worked from noon until 1:00 a.m., and it would have taken them an additional four or five hours had I not been carting boxes and hauling furniture right alongside them. I even had to assist in carrying our grand piano up the front steps because the young apprentice would almost certainly have been crippled for life had he been forced to continue lifting his end of it all by himself.
More than 40 boxes had not been tagged by the team in Ontario, so the check-off process was grossly inaccurate. In addition to that, a number of articles that arrived safely (e.g., our washer, dryer, fridge, stove) were not even recorded on any of the inventory lists as having been sent. Had they not arrived, I would undoubtedly have had a difficult time getting them replaced because your Claims Department labours under the delusion that if an item is not listed on the manifest then it doesn’t exist.
Although it was supposed to be a “complete unpack,” when the unpacking “crew” left there were still more than 30 unopened boxes scattered throughout the house. They said they’d return within a couple of days to dispose of the empty boxes and advise me of the final weight (no one seemed to have a hot clue as to the actual weight of our load), but I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of them since.
I am now in receipt of an invoice from your company soliciting the balance of the $11,841.44 you claim I owe you. With all due respect, I don’t think so. Have a nice day.
Sincerely,
Donovan Gray (“Moooving Victim”)
Where’s Waldo?
“It is astonishing just how much of what we are can
be tied to the beds we wake up in in the morning,
and it is astonishing how fragile that can be.”
- Excerpt from Coraline, by Neil Gaiman
Last year our family moved from northern Ontario to Winnipeg, where I’ve been working part-time in an emergency department as well as in an Urgent Care centre. I return to Ontario one week per month to do clinic and ER locum tenens work. This means I currently have three jobs in two provinces. My shifts in Winnipeg are a screwball mixture of days, evenings and nights. Most are eight hours long, but some are 10. In Ontario my stretches of ER call are anywhere from 24 to 72 hours in duration.
Human beings are not well-equipped to work irregular hours for prolonged intervals. This is in part because shift work wreaks havoc on our natural circadian rhythm. As a result, over time the perpetual flitting between the various shift categories exacts a heavy physiological toll. Diet, sleep, fitness levels and even relationships often develop significant fault lines as the tectonic plates of our professional and private lives crush against one another. For those of us who practice the art of mending broken bodies, night shifts are universally acknowledged to be the most difficult to adapt to. I can handle two or three consecutive graveyards without incurring too much additional stress, but anything more than that starts to make me feel like I'm about to join the ranks of the undead. Whenever I finally revert to regular daytime hours after a long stretch of nights I always half-expect to burst into flames the moment sunlight makes contact with my skin. Perhaps I've read ‘Salem's Lot one time too many… .