Scratch Beginnings_ Me, $25, and the Search for the American Dream - Adam W. Shepard [77]
Once in a while, more out of ignorance than disrespect, our customers would show their superiority. One day early in my moving career, I had a conversation with a customer whose son had worked as a mover on weekends for a while.
“Said it was the hardest work he ever did,” she said.
“Well, he wasn’t lying,” I replied. “What does he do now?”
“Oh, his back started bothering him. He’s got a real job now.”
But, more often than not, lines of respect went both ways. Just as we were in awe (and a wee bit envious) of the houses that we moved, many of our customers admired the occupation that we had chosen to make our living.
And it was great to be appreciated. There was absolutely no prestige in any of the jobs that I had performed in my first couple of weeks in Charleston, but moving was different. People were impressed to see us performing tasks that they couldn’t or wouldn’t do. And it wasn’t just the children watching our every move with looks of reverence, exclaiming, “Wow, look at him lift that all by himself, Daddy.” More often than not, the customers themselves would end up looking at me sometime throughout the day, saying, “Wow, look at Derrick carrying that all by himself. Shouldn’t somebody grab the other end?” Recliners, huge coffee tables, solid oak headboards, bookshelves—it was mind boggling the things that the guy could lift.
And Trinitrons. Ugh, Trinitrons. Even in the wake of the popularity of featherweight plasma home theater systems, Sony’s grossly overweight Trinitron televisions were maintaining their market share. Trinitrons were our worst nightmare, infamous for their awkwardly heavy design. I would have rather wrestled with any fifty-two-inch projection TV than dealt with a twenty-six-inch Trinitron. They were that heavy, and so unnecessary. The manufacturing company must use the Trinitron as an outlet to dispose of all of the unused parts at the manufacturing plant. “Say, uh, Marshall, we won’t be needing any of these iron scraps. Just melt them down and toss them in one of those Trinitrons.” I can’t tell you exactly how much those things weigh, but I can tell you that it was a rough way to start the day. We would arrive at a house and do a walk-through with the customer to see what exactly we would be moving—sofas, tables, desks, bookshelves, refrigerators, dressers, armoires. No problem. The weight was more evenly distributed on those pieces and with the assistance of special dollies, we could two-man them out the door. But then we would spot a Trinitron, and a collective sigh would pass over the room. One of us would throw out some sarcastic wise-crack to try to ease the discomfort, but there was no escaping the fact that somebody—two somebodies if Derrick wasn’t in “He-Man Mode”—was going to have to carry that beast out the door.
But Derrick, in all of his glory, never made me look bad. If anything, he made me shine. My awkwardness made it clear to all of our customers who was the veteran and who was the rookie on our team, but at the same time, we complemented each other nicely. With the dollies and the efficiency of the furniture wrapping system, we could each clear a room by ourselves. Derrick would wrap and clear one room, while I was wrapping and clearing another room, while Mike was wrapping and clearing another room. If one of us needed a hand with something, we would call for assistance, and then everybody would get back to working on his room. Our nearly flawless efficiency was putting a smile on the customers’ faces, and, as I said, a happy customer meant bigger tips.
It was good that I was putting those extra dollars in my pocket. In addition to putting a good amount of it in the bank, I was able to eat, purchase car insurance ($350 when I prepaid for a year), pay Mickey the weekly rent, and keep my truck fueled.
And pay