Feb
So the other day I saw someone down my Chicago city block moving with a, well, well call them less than professional mover. Let me set the scene for you. It’s a cold autumn day and you are walking down the street in the Windy City. You moved there with the help of some amazing and reasonably priced Chicago Movers a few months ago and were perfectly happy to have them handle the parking, the heavy lifting, the boxing, and to have them cover any damage that occurs in transit. The matching shirts were very reassuring.
So after that experience you see a guy trying to shepherd what looks like a crew of immigrant day job landscapers tossing and dropping cardboard boxes into the back of this ancient rusting out pickup truck with wooden slats rising up from the back to give it more space. He’s urgently calling at them to be more careful and to watch the boxes that say fragile while his wife is sitting with her arms crossed and a twitch developing in her facial muscles. Of course the shouting isn’t doing any good. Only one of them speaks any English. But even if they aren’t professional you are sure he got a great deal on their services. And it’s not like they’re probably moving that far across town.
But then you hear thunder in the distance, and as you walk by you can’t help one of the workers, the one who speaks English, ask the man if he happens to have a tarp somewhere they could borrow.