We've been preparing to move from our Downtown apartment. D-Day was Saturday, the 6th of June.
Now, for those of you who know me and/or follow this blog y'all know of my "special" gift. For those who don't, I suffer from acute MurphysLawtinitis. It's an aggressive, viral form of that old adage, so I know something will come up at some point during the move.
All the crap we've been hoarding in that cramped apartment was staggering so I took the day off on Friday to speed things along. This was not a rest day, no sir. Up at the crack o' dawn, we kept on packing boxes and taking down picture frames and shelving when an air horn blasted. Two minutes later, city employees were using diamond saw blades and pneumatic hammers to break up the sidewalk....along a stretch of 10 blocks...WTF! Figured something would happen but this...Damn! From the front door to the street including the first lane, nothing left but a pit.
Being the realist albeit cynical fcuk that I am, this is just another chapter in my book of misgivings with M. Murphy. Nothing to do but breathe and accept the inevitability, I mentally started preparing alternate routes for the movers to use. My better half, on the other hand, panicked and grabbed the phone. It just so happens that somebody left us locals a "please call us for information" leaflet in the mailbox...uhmm, side story time.
To me, this information leaflet is akin to the 'People's Opium'. A fast acting anesthetic whose mere view proclaims that there is nothing a humble citizen can do but watch. Should he call the emergency number, said citizen will be directed to an Oh-So sympathetic, looser-cruiser driving bureaucrat and told that the entire operation is confusing and regrettable (bait) but a necessary and vital (switch) aspect of urban planning that will enrich his life in the years to come. The White Collar type will inveigle the citizen to believe that all is good in the Land and that progress has a price that all have to share. Textbook Pencil Pusher propaganda.
The call was placed and the friendly interlocutor proceeded to inform us this was an unusual circumstance and that steps would be taken to find a solution. We were to call him back if nothing was done before 16h00 EST. that day then promptly hung-up. Here we go...propaganda in action. I was told to calm down and that everything would be fine. Dammit, they got to her.
30 minutes later, a dump truck carrying a full load of gravel empties itself between the downstairs porch and the street. A front loader quickly follow and taps the gravel to an even level upon which a walking plank was laid! Holy Shyte Batman!....who were those masked men?
Picture a man standing on a 2nd floor balcony, watching a mysterious event unfold: below him, city employees working to solve a problem. Trick of the light or a wink....from the twilight zone?
I cannot, dear readers, put into words the absolute breadth of the pride swollen, nyah-nyah-see-I-told-you-so smile than the one that the missus beamed back to me when the workers finished up. I think my retinas are still scorched by all that self-indulgence! Should I have been the one to call, nothing would've moved....including us! Ah, the power of female persuasion. Some would say that there's a lesson to be had here but talk is cheap and they don't know the Power of the Dark Murphy!!
I guess I was wrong. Thank you, Mr. White Collar, good job. Now, teach that to the rest of your colleagues and boy, Montreal would become a Great Lady once again.
We moved out of Montreal, the next morning, without a hitch. Exit the city, Montérégie, here we come! Onward, to the unknown, for an adventure of a lifetime. Well, that's the romantic version...more like 30 years of mortgage payments and work around the house!
Now, for those of you who know me and/or follow this blog y'all know of my "special" gift. For those who don't, I suffer from acute MurphysLawtinitis. It's an aggressive, viral form of that old adage, so I know something will come up at some point during the move.
All the crap we've been hoarding in that cramped apartment was staggering so I took the day off on Friday to speed things along. This was not a rest day, no sir. Up at the crack o' dawn, we kept on packing boxes and taking down picture frames and shelving when an air horn blasted. Two minutes later, city employees were using diamond saw blades and pneumatic hammers to break up the sidewalk....along a stretch of 10 blocks...WTF! Figured something would happen but this...Damn! From the front door to the street including the first lane, nothing left but a pit.
Being the realist albeit cynical fcuk that I am, this is just another chapter in my book of misgivings with M. Murphy. Nothing to do but breathe and accept the inevitability, I mentally started preparing alternate routes for the movers to use. My better half, on the other hand, panicked and grabbed the phone. It just so happens that somebody left us locals a "please call us for information" leaflet in the mailbox...uhmm, side story time.
To me, this information leaflet is akin to the 'People's Opium'. A fast acting anesthetic whose mere view proclaims that there is nothing a humble citizen can do but watch. Should he call the emergency number, said citizen will be directed to an Oh-So sympathetic, looser-cruiser driving bureaucrat and told that the entire operation is confusing and regrettable (bait) but a necessary and vital (switch) aspect of urban planning that will enrich his life in the years to come. The White Collar type will inveigle the citizen to believe that all is good in the Land and that progress has a price that all have to share. Textbook Pencil Pusher propaganda.
The call was placed and the friendly interlocutor proceeded to inform us this was an unusual circumstance and that steps would be taken to find a solution. We were to call him back if nothing was done before 16h00 EST. that day then promptly hung-up. Here we go...propaganda in action. I was told to calm down and that everything would be fine. Dammit, they got to her.
30 minutes later, a dump truck carrying a full load of gravel empties itself between the downstairs porch and the street. A front loader quickly follow and taps the gravel to an even level upon which a walking plank was laid! Holy Shyte Batman!....who were those masked men?
Picture a man standing on a 2nd floor balcony, watching a mysterious event unfold: below him, city employees working to solve a problem. Trick of the light or a wink....from the twilight zone?
I cannot, dear readers, put into words the absolute breadth of the pride swollen, nyah-nyah-see-I-told-you-so smile than the one that the missus beamed back to me when the workers finished up. I think my retinas are still scorched by all that self-indulgence! Should I have been the one to call, nothing would've moved....including us! Ah, the power of female persuasion. Some would say that there's a lesson to be had here but talk is cheap and they don't know the Power of the Dark Murphy!!
I guess I was wrong. Thank you, Mr. White Collar, good job. Now, teach that to the rest of your colleagues and boy, Montreal would become a Great Lady once again.
We moved out of Montreal, the next morning, without a hitch. Exit the city, Montérégie, here we come! Onward, to the unknown, for an adventure of a lifetime. Well, that's the romantic version...more like 30 years of mortgage payments and work around the house!
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