a simple move becomes an all day affair

Today I am helping Sam (M's son) move into his new apartment.  Sam is on a plane on his way back from Europe. He has asked me to oversee the move.  

Sam always has it together.  He is well organized and a master at getting things done. He arranges the move with Schleppers.  He emails me multiple times with all the details. Times. Places. Names and numbers. Lists of what’s being moved.  Who has keys. How to get them.  Where to return them.  Everything is exquisitely detailed in an impeccably organized email. All I have to do is show up and make sure the movers do what they are supposed to do.

Sam asks me to be at his Murray Hill apartment at 7:50 a.m.  "The movers should be there around eight," he writes.  

At 7:45, I am sitting on a bench across from Sam's apartment. By 8:15 I am getting impatient. I call Schleppers to see what's causing the delay.

“Yes, they are on their way.  They left the Bronx a while ago. They should be there soon.”

At nine, I call again.  “They are only a few blocks a way.  Any minute they’ll be pulling up. Oh, and by the way, the scheduled pick-up is between nine and ten so they're not even late."  They have no record of an earlier pick-up time.  

By ten, I am livid.  I call yet again.  While the two previous responses were totally fabricated, this response is absurd.  “I just spoke to the driver.  They are there, they’re just circling around looking for a parking space.” 

“WHAT?” I respond.  “First of all, there has not been a Shleppers truck down this street.  I know because I am sitting outside watching.  But what are you talking about?  They are looking for a space? What moving company does that?  What if they find a space three blocks from the apartment?  Are they going to carry mattresses and tables and a sofa two or  three blocks?  Think about how ridiculous that would be.  I am sure they are not looking for a parking space!”

The movers arrive at 10:10.  I've been waiting almost two-and-a-half hours.  I am not happy.

The move itself goes well. It takes a little over an hour.  Sam's roommate and his roommate's dad are in the apartment.  When we are close to being done, I ask how much longer they think it’ll be.  “Not more than 15 minutes,” Manny, the foreman, tells me.  The new apartment is a short drive away.

So I go ahead of them.  I walk the 30 blocks to the new apartment, meet the new super, and collect the keys.  It’s now around noon.

I expect the movers any minute.  This is a walk-up with no lobby, so I sit on the stoop outside and wait.  Almost two hours later, at 1:45, they arrive. 

It turns out the movers had to take apart a sofa that didn't fit down the narrow winding staircase of Sam’s third floor walk-up. That took an hour. And when I called Schleppers to see what was taking so long, I was simply told, "They'll be there soon."  

The unloading at the new apartment goes smoothly.

I get home at 4:15, exhausted. 

Moral of the story:  
Don't use Schleppers to help you move.  
Grade A to the 3 guys who did the move; Grade F to the administrators who planned it.