Author Topic: The Legend of the Move That Was WAY Hardcore  (Read 932 times)

Offline Feargan

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The Legend of the Move That Was WAY Hardcore
« on: August 04, 2014, 07:15:26 PM »
The Legend of the Move
that was
Way Hardcore

   "Where the hell has Feargan been? Why has Feargan been gone so long? When will Feargan be back? What the fuck is this rash and where (Who? 0.o ) the fuck did it come from?" 

These are all questions that I'm sure many of you have been asking yourselves over the course of the past few months. To avoid repeating myself more than is absolutely necessary, the answers to most of these questions shall now be conveyed in convenient text form for your viewing pleasure.
« Last Edit: August 21, 2016, 11:09:14 AM by Feargan »

Offline Feargan

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Re: The Legend of the Move That Was WAY Hardcore
« Reply #1 on: August 04, 2014, 07:19:11 PM »
It all began with a note on the front door. I ignored it at first, thinking it some advertisement from whatever freshly hired door-to-door advertiser that I'd yet to sufficiently horrify into permanently avoiding our residence, if not the entire occupation. Upon examination, it proved to be a notice that the rental property my wife and I occupied was "transferring owners" and that we should call some office immediately... M'kay...

... Several phone calls by NinjaWife later:

We have to move in two weeks! They will give us much monies. [Insert Skepticism Here]

... Several more phone calls by NinjaWife later:

Please standby, pay no rent in meantime. Much monies still coming; be ready to leave at a couple of weeks notice. [Insert so much MORE skepticism here... also, trepidation]

Seriously? Someone is going to pay us to move out of our apartment and therefore the city that we don't like living in? At the time, we had never even heard of such an occurrence. We decided, "Fuck someday, let's use this to move where we really want to go! TO THE MOUNTAINS!"

... Eight rent-free weeks and one phone call later:

Get the fuck out; we have check to you for much monies.

Holy Fucking Shit! Operation Whirlwind-Pick-Up-Everything-And-Move-Motherfucker! GO! LEEROOOOOOOOY JEAAAANKIIIIIIINS!

...     

...Ahem. I said, Operation Whirlwind-Pick-Up-Everything-And-MOVE-MOTHERFUCKER! GO GO GO!

... What's that? Oh. How bad? No, that's not... we can't have... we have failed one another.

So, we apparently egregiously underestimated the amount of stuff my wife and I had accumulated together. No, really; it was a fucking obscenity. It took two 16' Uhaul moving truck trips (rented separately, 3 days apart... oh, the shame) and six regular size pickup truck trips to move the stuff that we didn't donate or throw away (there was a lot of that too). Operation Whirlwind-Pick-Up-Everything-And-Move-Motherfucker was the single most poorly executed move with which I have ever been involved; I have personally moved at least 35 times. Thankfully, the location in which we stored everything was only around 45 miles away. Yes, ONLY. That is how we were forced to think of it in the coming... ... *facedesk* ... ...months. I mustn’t get ahead of myself; where was I?

RIGHT! So with all our shit in my parent's garage and a mighty check in hand, we moved in with my parents for what was supposed to be between two to four weeks while waiting for my wife's job transfer to go through. This is when I discovered the packing error made while I was returning the moving vehicle: my gaming apparatuses were in the dead center of the hideous mound of our heaped belongings; irretrievable. Sadness. Oh well, we’ll be moving soon... right?


Offline Feargan

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Re: The Legend of the Move That Was WAY Hardcore
« Reply #2 on: August 04, 2014, 07:26:59 PM »
October - First month.

Her employer: "Should be any day now. Typical approval time is four to six weeks." 

Us: "No worries; we are enjoying the time with my parents and we're being way over-fed by them." 

I folded my business in preparation for the move and basically loitered at random places (Coffee shops, bookstores, libraries, etc.) while I waited for my wife to be done with work each day. This was in order to save money since the commute was 45+ miles each way and we also only have one vehicle. I mean, hey, "Typical approval time is four to six weeks", right? Not so bad... at first.


November through January - The Cold Shoulder.

Her employer: "Typical approval time is four to six weeks. However, now is peak-season, so that may be what is holding things up."

Us: "At least we're still here for Christmas and the holidays. Being here with family during this time has been a blessing. Hurry up though."

It seemed I was in Purgatory during the day. Have you ever been in a crowded American hospital emergency room in the middle of the night on a holiday weekend with a fairly minor injury? If you haven't: don't. If you have, you know what my daily life was like for these months. If the time was set that my wife left work each day it wouldn't have been so bad, but it varied every day from somewhere between 4:30pm and 6:30pm, when it was mercifully consistent. Some days, she had to be there until 10pm or 11pm, usually with no notice... sometimes with me waiting in the fucking parking lot. Did I mention my laptop and only connection to STO died somewhere during this time? There are infinitely more, infinitely worse things that countless endure in this world and I am grateful for the minor nature of my trials; however, this was fucking TEDIOUS.


February - It's Raining.

Us: "What the Fuck?"

Her employer: "Outlook hazy, try again later."

Us: "WHAT?!?"

Her employer: "If you need to move prior to transfer approval, please feel free to do so; understand that this action will place you on 'inactive' status with the company. Typical approval time is four to six weeks." We're not pissing on you, it's raining. A warm prelude to the Spring quarter... warm and wet... and yellow... and totally not piss.

This is where my NinjaWife turned the full brunt of her fury on these wretched fools and actually leapt through the company intranet and may or may not have viciously slaughtered several of those responsible for the delays we were experiencing. I'm not saying she killed them for certain, I wasn't there. She was there though... and they DIED. When she returned, I was greeted by her furrowed brow just slightly behind her dripping, blood-soaked sword and a look that told me to ask no questions, lest I be damned. God I love her.


March - Some Movement.

Her Employer: "Additional paperwork in support of your request is required at this time. Also, your request has been approved at the 'District Level' and has been passed on to the 'Regional Level'. Typical approval time is four to six weeks."

Us: "'District Level' approval? Well that's something; paperwork is on its way." Being passed through corporate digestion is fucking horrible. This should all be over with soon.


April - More Movement. (Yes, it's a poop metaphor)

Her Employer: "Your request has been approved at the 'Regional Level' and has been passed on to the final 'Corporate Level'.

Us:  "Oh, yeah?" [Insert Suspicion Here]

Her Employer: "Totally."

Us: "What's that behind your back, there?"

Her Employer: "Nothing... just your lives on hold."

Us: "..."



May - Right on your chest. (A.K.A. Better Luck Next Year)

Her Employer: "Request Denied. For... reasons."

Her: "Alright. What are my options? Assuming I don't kill you where you stand."

Her Employer: "We are Legion. We are beyond your power. Feel free to try again next year if you're feeling lucky. Typical approval time is four to six weeks."

Her: "No problem whatsoever." *Menacing Smug Grin*

NinjaWife then carries on her workday continuing through the rest of the work week prior to her already scheduled vacation... and upon leaving, never returns again following six years of employment. During the vacation, NinjaWife landed a new job in Colorado, found a place for us to reside, may or may not have possibly caused the collapse of a worldwide corporate entity through espionage and wholesale murder (again, I wasn't there...), and booked accommodations for our long trip.
As a final desperate spurt of corporate snail dick bureaucracy, we received a bill from her former employer for her paid vacation that they claimed she somehow owed them. We'll get right on that.
UPDATE: They've now sent a second notice with more impotent threats of legal action. >=) We've made the decision to let them take us to court over it and we'll request a trial by jury in that event. Should they decide to actually spend the several thousand dollars it would cost to recover this few hundred dollars AND manage to convince 12 of our peers that they don't in fact owe US damages instead... we'll pay them... totally. Yeah, they're really pushing rope here.

UPDATE 2: They gave up on that and no longer claim we owe them anything. The tactic of coercion by wanton wholesale murder that some claim was employed by us is in no way provable, totally without merit, and is completely unrelated to the several thousand dollars they later paid us.  ;D
« Last Edit: November 20, 2015, 09:24:32 AM by Feargan »

Offline Feargan

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Re: The Legend of the Move That Was WAY Hardcore
« Reply #3 on: August 04, 2014, 07:32:09 PM »
JUNE - THE ADVENTURE

PART 1

Operation Pack-Everything-Before-Parents-Return-From-3week-Trip-And-Oh-Shit-We Still-Have-Way-Too-Fucking-Much-Stuff-Quick-Downsize-More-And-Somehow-Make-Time-To-Clean-The-House-Too-ARRRRRRRRRRGGHGGHGHGGGHGHGGHGGHHGHGHHGHHGGHGGHGHGH!

...Believe it or not, through sheer iron determination, we managed to stuff everything we were going to take into a small 5'x8' (Inside dimensions: 8' x 4'8" x 5'4") trailer and the bed of my pickup truck. My 1998 Nissan Frontier XE with 246,500+ miles on it... new shocks... new belts... new alternator... new filters... new tires... somewhat new starter... a bit risky, given the trip ahead was 1300 miles, however, we had to be in Colorado by June 16th and we were on a small budget due to bank waiting period fuckery. We also managed to get the house cleaned before picking my parents up from the airport, which was miraculous given we'd used the entirety of the house's floor space to go through and downsize all our stuff again.

Next morning, my parents decided they were generously going to rent a moving truck and vehicle trailer as a gift to us in order to help us get on our way. SO, we unloaded everything from the truck bed, trailer, and the garage into the moving truck after being at this process for over two weeks and exhausted from making the previous day's deadline. There was STILL, somehow, a great deal of stuff that we were forced to leave behind.

We departed on Friday the 13th, in a 16' Penske Moving Truck that towed Goldie (our truck) secured on a trailer; both the moving truck and the bed of Goldie completely filled. Headed for Augusta, Kansas to visit relatives along the way. We thought we'd either stop on the road somewhere after St.Louis, Missouri or I'd power through like a badass all the way there.

Driving this huge rig we'd assembled through St.Louis was somewhat difficult. Randomly closed lanes with jack-shit for warning, construction workers out IN THE FUCKING HIGHWAY, roadside billboard signs on the way into the city displaying "Hit a worker: Go to jail for 10 years AND get fined $100,000", but the fucking workers were in the lanes that weren't closed at times and the speed limit was still at 45-55mph! Then there were the giant fucking Orwellian roadside billboard screens literally cycling through displaying several wanted fugitives' names & faces as well as various marketing and propaganda. Not long after the construction, not far ahead of us a MAJORLY catastrophic accident had just taken place. One vehicle had landed upside down on top of the large center highway divider, a big-ass SUV was all crumpled to shit, and 4 or 5 other cars were in various states of destruction. There were wounded still in the damaged vehicles, the paramedics had just arrived, and most of the police response (there was one police unit already present) pulled in behind us as we were passing the scene; total fucking carnage. Properly horrified, we proceeded out of the city with all manner of vehicle hurling past us in our over-laden, gas-guzzling monstrosity.

Having left the shithole driving experience that was St.Louis, my wife attempted to convince me that it would be best to stop for the night. Begrudgingly, I agreed since I was the only one able to drive and we tried the first place that looked reasonable we came upon; no vacancy. Alright, down the highway a bit... here's one; no vacancy. Hmmm... Okay, down the highway more; no fucking vacancy. Then we entered a town, tried three different places; all full. The last one suggested we follow some garbage fucking directions and go down into the asshole of this backwater shitstain Missouri town. By now, I'm sufficiently angry to declare "Fuck this town, fuck stopping, fuck a hotel, fuck a motel, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! Fuck all things!" We were already hellishly sleep deprived and physically exhausted when we awoke the prior morning, having only slept 3 or 4 hours; patience was wearing thin, but my 'Man Card' would allow nothing less than total victory. Six grueling hours later, we arrived in Augusta, Kansas at 5am CDT. Over 800 miles driven in one sitting at an average of 55 mph, never going faster than 65 mph; over half-way through the total distance to be traveled on this journey.
I felt fairly badass and remember thinking, "The hard part is over."


« Last Edit: November 20, 2015, 09:14:08 AM by Feargan »

Offline Feargan

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Re: The Legend of the Move That Was WAY Hardcore
« Reply #4 on: August 04, 2014, 07:36:27 PM »
PART 2 - The Hard Part

So we slept for at least a good six hours and then arose to spend as much time as possible with family members. After a brief but good time there, we resumed our course west. No sooner than when we merged onto I-70W, the wind began to kick up rather significantly. Now, Kansas is absurdly fucking windy anyway, so, when I say "kick up rather significantly," I mean it will cause a normal car or truck to be flung out of its lane or even off the road if the driver isn't experienced and paying very close attention. Of course, we were in a decidedly non-aerodynamic behemoth that drove like a skyscraper. White-knuckled, wits frayed, we drove ever steadily westward and always slightly uphill past the rather impressive wind farms as we were knocked back and forth by the late afternoon gale. Frequently, the highway administration and national weather service shut down the highway we travelled due to inclement weather. This gave us a somewhat false sense of confidence that it was safe to continue onward as we watched a storm gather ahead. Soon, an early dusk was imposed by the chaos that had formed on the horizon.

There was a lot of lightning ahead of us; no, really, it was a fucking intimidating amount of lightning. Remember those gale force winds from earlier that day? Those were there... with their goddamned mother. Then the deluge... that started. Not rain, fuck rain; solid blocks of water the size of boulders were falling at the exit gates of the hell that is Kansas. Then it all stopped... except the lightning. The lightning sprang up and intensified, becoming a monstrous wall comprised entirely of raw energy and hideous tumult; this was the single most beautiful and terrifying display of nature's power I had hitherto witnessed up this close. Suddenly, from what seemed out of nowhere, a very large Fed-Ex truck came barreling up, passed us on the left, and then swerved back into our lane; thereby dispelling some of the initial disquiet from the fucking wall of goddamned lightning. We travelled a mile or so and were coming up on an exit for some defunct Kansas truck-stop, which only matters because there were lighted poles on the ramps to and from the highway, when, without warning, those lighted poles fucking disappeared... along with everything else but the brake lights from the Fed-Ex semi in front of us. Then we saw tons of debris in the air illuminated by our headlights and began hearing larger impacts than the constant spray of dirt we'd been travelling with for some time. At first I thought the impacts were hail, but as we continued decelerating I was able to discern that they were, in fact, stones that were being flung about by the maelstrom surrounding us; THIS is a tornado, I thought. We pressed slowly on, knowing our only chance was to continue. For the truck, I imagine it was similar in difficulty to forcing an angry, feral cat down the hole of a flushing toilet using only your face. Hand-in-hand with my wife, my 'Man Card' shone brilliantly in the night, blazing a path through the twisting, dark maw of lightning, water, earth, and stone. Wait... that's not my 'Man Card' shining out there... it's a state trooper! Oddly enough, a state trooper was on the ramp that had just disappeared from view moments before. The trooper turned on all of the lights their vehicle possessed; appearing to ignite the sky in crimson and azure flashing that resonated throughout the raucous, swirling madness.  I thought we were being pulled over for a moment, then the trooper passed us and the Fed-Ex truck; seemingly leading us through the storm to safety. The trooper was not leading us to safety; the trooper was running.

It didn't take long for the flashing lights to be completely out of sight, not far after that, the Fed-Ex truck in front of us pulled over for shelter under an overpass. My mother had a friend that was killed when he was sucked out from under an overpass by a tornado, vehicle and all. This knowledge made me disinclined to stop, as one may imagine, even though we passed many more vehicles attempting to take shelter beneath the different overpasses. Several times we saw travelers parked multiple vehicles wide and spilling into the highway, practically begging to cause an accident.

We then noticed that no one was coming toward us for the visible distance; no headlights from oncoming traffic; no one on the road. Fuck. We pulled over briefly at a rest area, and spent only a moment looking back on our course and deliberating whether or not to continue. We quickly moved on, knowing that what was behind us was coming our way and we did not want to be there when it arrived and what was ahead of us had to end somewhere. Leaving the rest area, which was filled with other frightened travelers and their vehicles may have seemed a bit unwise, but history and I stand by my decision. There were other people on that road that night which were not so lucky.

The brick sized rain and demon winds continued... also, some really fucked up lightning... that was still there. There were a few tornadoes around that night; here is a video of one that someone caught on camera: http://stormchasingvideo.com/6142014-stockton-kansas-tornado-footage 

So there were some close calls; there was even an intense stop for fuel, during which an ominous old man straight out of some shitty horror film warned us not to continue. An hour or so later, we crossed the boundary of the storm; one step closer to our Mountains.

Offline Feargan

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Re: The Legend of the Move That Was WAY Hardcore
« Reply #5 on: August 21, 2016, 11:08:01 AM »
Years later, the tale continues.


PART 3 - The Shaft of The Hard Part

Having received vital news from my uncle that we weren't headed into more tornadoes by continuing our bold quest through the dark terrors of the night, we lurched steadily onward in our hulking obscenity of a vehicle. Somewhere along the road there was a junction, through which I felt certain I knew the correct way to go. My wife asserted that we should turn, I believed we should go straight through. We did not turn, but my wife strongly insisted... repeatedly... for many miles... that we were on the wrong road. My wits and will all but destroyed already, I gave in and consented to turning around. That sounds so simple. What ensued was the most inconceivably ill-advised twelve point turn around in the middle of a two lane highway (that's one lane in each direction) flanked by almost no shoulder, axle eating ditches on both sides, and immense corn fields. Remember, this was in a 16 foot long truck towing an even longer trailer. There was also the stark reality that soon other vehicles would be coming while we completely blocked the whole highway with this disjointed abomination that had no business turning around in any direction but forward. I've been on this highway since then; there was not enough room to achieve this turn around. I still cannot give any conclusion but "Act of God" for how I was able to turn that thing around in those circumstances.

So, we went back to the junction and took the turn that my wife wanted us to take.  Some miles passed; not looking good. We passed through a "town," (not sure it should be called that) in which the entire population was gathered in one building... in the middle of the night... like after 2 AM on a week night... and it didn't seem to be a bar. Bit creepy, but we pressed on with me continuously asserting ever more emphatically that we were going the wrong way. We then passed through another town that was even creepier than the last, complete with distant bonfire and an inbred looking sheriff who drove past us sending a look of haunting menace our way. After leaving this disturbing place, I decided that we were turning around again to go back from whence we came... in exactly the same egregiously awful conditions for turning around as before. During this inane 16 point turn around, my wife and I screamed at each other like never before or since; we were right at our breaking point. Another Act of God later and we were on our way back through plains-billy hell (there are no hills there), another 1.5 hours added to an already grueling journey... and we were on the correct road before we turned around the first time.

With nowhere to stop and even less desire to do so, we pressed onward and upward to the mountains of Colorado. This is when exhaustion really took hold of my senses. We'd been sleep deprived and physically devastated continuously for several weeks by this point... and the next few days promised only more of the same. The coffee we'd acquired from random gas stations along the way, which was the consistency of urine poured through the rusty tail pipe of an old diesel truck, had done all it could to keep me awake. I was forced to crank the air conditioner up all the way to "freeze us out" and began intermittently slapping myself as hard as I could in the face to stay awake. All I wanted was to pull over and sleep right there... anywhere... but we kept going. By the time we were within 30 miles of the hotel we were to stay at for the next week, even my vision had begun to blur from exhaustion and my wife had to read all the names on the street signs for me, but I could see our Mountains...
we had made it.
« Last Edit: August 21, 2016, 11:11:41 AM by Feargan »