Among 12 zillion other really stressful aspects of my life right now is the fact that we have goods in a storage locker. First, I will again publicly admit that both Pop and I have a tendency to “pack-rat” stuff, and both of us have difficulties with the concept of getting rid of things we’ve had any length of time. I’ve mentioned my own on-going battles with “stuff management” before. Battles that as often as not are lost.
When Pop and I became empty-nesters, and had 2 freed-up bedrooms in the house, one room was turned into a craft room for me, for my yarn work, sewing, quilting, embroidery machines, work tables, storage shelves, desk for computer used to program/design the embroidery, overhead adjustable track lighting. (Oh, damn, it was wonderful!) The other bedroom was a bit of office, a lot of storage, and gradually the balance changed til it was mostly storage of stuff we were unwilling to get rid of.
This all ended in disaster when Daughter needed to come home with 2 babies. Because we had little notice, and time was a factor, we rented a storage locker nearby and as quickly as he could possibly do it, Pop boxed and packed and loaded and hauled everything that was in those 2 rooms into a rented storage facility about a mile away. This was neccessary to provide sufficient space for daughter and babies to stay. (This all took place in August, and the man lost 15 lbs, from the extra work and sweat) Daughter also brought her possessions with her, and they are in there, too. A week before all this hit, my mother passed away and her household had to be cleared; some of that stuff went directly into this rented space, as I didn’t have the time or presence of mind to stop, sit down and sort it all out. Clearly it was quicker and easier at the time to just shove it in there with a promise of “I’ll deal with it later.” That was almost 2 years ago. “Later” hasn’t been scheduled yet. There hasn’t been much time.
This storage locker issue gripes me, on several fronts. The idea that I have effectively no access to so much of my stuff, is bothersome. I did keep one sewing machine here in the house and it could be used on the dining room table for small projects or mending. But boxes of all my craft supplies are all down there. So I don’t do much other than mending. I used to do a lot of sewing, quilting, embroidery work and I got a lot of enjoyment out of it. God only knows what Pop had stored in that front bedroom, but it’s all down there, too. The biggest gripe of all, though, has to be the cost, $154 a month. At 20 months into this, over $3000 has been paid out. The monthly cost of the units is determined by size and we have one of the biggest offered, and it’s damn near full. And I often think — how much utter shit is in there, increasing the monthly cost??? How much of that stuff should never have been saved here at the house, wasn’t worth the effort that Pop made transporting it down there, and damn sure is not worth the monthly cost of housing it? At least once a month, when the storage bill is paid, I get myself in a snit and my stomach in a knot, thinking about the better things that could be done with this money? I would certainly be better off were the $3K applied directly against my mortgage.
SO…..
On Friday, there’s a note in the mailbox that an attempt to deliver a Certified Letter was made, and the letter would be available for pick-up at the local post office on Saturday morning. So, before it was forgotten, I went right over, first thing in the morning.
And I damn near had a stroke, right there at the Dover Post Office.
The letter is from Public Storage, those folks with the big orange signs all over, stating that they have repeatedly contacted us regarding removal of our goods from the rented unit, and have received no response from us. They are advising us that demolition of the building will commence on Monday, March 10. And we have until then to get our goods out of the building or they will be destroyed. Mind you, this was Saturday, March 8, and the first I had fucking heard about this. Oh, did I go ballistic. (Sadly, I did this near a Post Office, and I certainly hope I didn’t frighten anyone)
About 3 months ago, when Pop was over there on his monthly trip to pay the damn bill, he smelled smoke in the air – he was outside the storage locker at the time. He mentioned it to the clerk at the facility and was told that there had been a fire inside one of the units in our building a few days before, but way down at the other end of the long building. From what Pop gathered at the time, actual fire damage was contained to the single locker, but there was smoke damage in those units immediately surrounding. Again, this was maybe 12-15 units away from ours, at the very end of the building, each unit is 10′ wide interior measurement, and cement block walls divide the units. So we’re talking 150 feet away there was a contained fire. Pop went into our unit and could smell no smoke and there certainly was no physical fire damage to anything of ours. He reported this to the Public Storage clerk. On subsequent monthly visits to pay the bill in person, nothing was ever said about moving, damage to the structure, etc. He was told, when he inquired, that the local Fire Marshall’s investigation pointed to a lithium battery in a video camera. Fault was determined to be the rentor of the unit, as all are given a list of “no-no’s” and batteries are high on the list, right up there with aerosol cans. The battery should have been removed from the camera before it went into storage.
Anyway. So, I leave the Dover Post Office like a maniac!! Fortunately, although I was ready to rip heads off, I did not go directly to Public Storage, but went to Pop at work. I just handed the letter to him. We went together immediately to Public Storage.
Here’s the bullshit we were told.
- Leasee of the unit is denying responsibility.
- Those good folks and leasees of the surrounding units have refused to move their goods.
- The entire building will be demolished, which is akin to demolishing your whole house because you burned the breakfast toast.
- Although the letter states that we have been “repeatedly contacted,” the clerk acknowledges that we were not, at any time, contacted about this issue, nor were we ever told we would have to move our goods.
- Per the clerk, the letter was just a “scare tactic” to get some response from those very few who were directly involved and sustained damage.
- The building is not going to be demolished starting March 10; they are going to hold off until the first of April.
- Public Storage is not paying for the moving of our goods from one unit to another.
- Public Storage at this local facillity currently does NOT have another unit of comparable size for us to move our goods into; they do not know when one of that size will be available. Presumably, we can, in the meantime, put all the contents of a 10′ x 10′ x 20′ storage locker in our bathtub and just give up washing.
- They suggested we go through the goods stored and perhaps discard much of it, so that we could go into a smaller locker.
This last one irked me. While acknowledging that there’s a certain amount of truth there, that much of the contents could, in fact should, be culled, and a smaller locker would be less costly per month, still, it angered me that the Public Storage clerk advised us to do this, as the recommended way of coping with something that was clearly not our fault or doing. It’s not their damn business how much or what quality of goods we place into that storage locker, as long at it meets their regulations for safety and insurance. Like – NO BATTERIES. NO EXPLOSIVES, FIREARMS, AEROSOL CANS. Nothing that will stink. WE did not cause the damn fire. Perhaps the clerk was just trying to be helpful in very trying circumstances. I admit that. And perhaps, my nerves are pretty well shot to hell, but still, it pissed me off.
Anyhow, the first stage in all this is that Pop was requested to contact a company that officially determines whether or not there has been damages to our unit and/or our goods. Our say-so, our “sniff test,” our visual inspection of our goods, our willingness to sign a document to that effect, means nothing. Hubby contacted the local affiliate of a major company that does this and an appointment is set for Monday. Hubby will have to leave work AGAIN, meet the representative at the Public Storage facility, stand there while they look at our shit goods, scratch and sniff, and certify that we have no basis to file a legal claim. Duh. Then we can move our stuff.
It clearly should be sorted through, and unnecessary stuff either discarded or given away. I work 5 days a week, watch daughter’s children on one of my days off. Pop also works 5 days a week, hard physical work for a man almost 60 years old. We ain’t kids here. We need longer days, and longer weeks. And we need March to last about 8 weeks. April Fool’s Day needs to be postponed indefinitely. Right now, I haven’t a clue how we’re going to accomplish all this, where the stuff will go, and where we will find the time to do all that will need to be done. If I take enough nerve pills to get through this calmly, I won’t be able to walk stay awake even fart drive. If I don’t take that many pills, Pop will kill me, just to shut me up!
Pop must have known how stressed I was yesterday. He came home with a gallon of wine! And without saying a word, he fired up TV and speaker systems with Journey, Escape 1981. And handed me a large glass.
