Unpacking is like Christmas. Except everything you open is crap.
I had high hopes for you, Germans. I really did.
Every time you move, it’s a game of: What’s broken? What’s damaged? What’s stolen?
This time, I thought, will be different. Our movers are German. They are professionals. Not the usual minimum-wage crackheads.
Ha. It’s the same, all-too-familiar, truly asinine packing. Plastic kids’ spoon wrapped in five sheets of paper. Polish pottery in two sheets of paper thrown in the bottom of a box. No bubble wrap, no paper, no padding around a big glass demijohn. Sure. That makes total sense.
Every single piece of wooden furniture is damaged. every. single. piece. Most irritating is this little table. It looks like they drug it across the driveway before wrapping it in paper. And it’s light enough a girl with zero upper-body strength (aka me) can carry it. Obviously we didn’t see that happen.
But this one takes the cake: A dishpack marked “wooden box.” What could that possibly be? An empty wooden beer crate? A storage box from the bookshelves? Nope. A case of wine. A full case, less 2 bottles. Thrown on top of a bunch of other stuff, packed with glassware. geniuses.
I’ve had a few days to put it in perspective. It is only stuff after all. But I’m still pissed. Pissed about the broken plate from Morocco, all the furniture I now have to paint, all the broken West German pottery that I may not be able to replace, especially my favorite Spara Keramik planter.
Pissed that after all the unpacking (we’re still not done), we have a box like this:
And that 20L glass demijohn? Smashed to bits. If I were really smart, I would have brought more back. I paid 5€ for it in Belgium, but it’s going to cost $280 to replace. At that rate, maybe instead of being sad, I should start planning a trip to Belgium to get a new one. Anyone up for some shopping?
Another view of the ginourmous empty box pile.