The Kindness of Strangers

It’s not until you’re in real trouble that you find out how many wonderful people there are out there

I was moving 12 hours away. I had managed, after over a year, to sell my house, and I had found (in 1 day) a beautiful new house with a huge yard that would never be piled high with snow. I didn’t think at the time about how long it would take to mow in the strong Southern sun, but it was March — plenty of time to think about that later.

I hired one of the smaller moving companies (a) to support a smaller business and (b) to hopefully get a smaller price. I talked to the agent at the moving company several times to go over how many rooms I was moving, approximately how many dish boxes would be needed, how many big pieces of furniture…I was willing to pay to have them come in, pack everything up, and unpack it when they got here. At 66, I figured I deserved that, and I was moving by myself. The four dogs and three cats wouldn’t be much help.

The movers were scheduled to come Monday by noon, so I could supervise before I left. I had to be to the new house by 3 the following afternoon to pick up the keys, so things were tightly scheduled. I waited and waited and waited, until finally the friend who was driving down with me in the RV I’d rented for the animals said, “We can’t wait any longer. We have to go now.” Luckily, my ex-husband said he’d wait for the movers and supervise. We packed up the four dogs with plenty of blankets and some food and water and off we went.

Other than pulling over for my poor driver to sleep for a few hours, the only stops we made were gas and potty stops for ourselves and the dogs.

At last we pulled into my new street, just in time to stop the real estate agent from leaving. I got my keys, we shook hands, and the dogs and I stepped into our new home. My male dog immediately marked his territory on the living room carpet, and we headed right out to buy enough batteries to shut up all the smoke detectors and a small mattress with cheap sheets for me to sleep on until the movers got there with my furniture and everything I owned.

For two weeks I waited for that moving van. I thought it would be just a few hours behind me. I called several times and was told I’d get a call the day before the van would arrive.

Finally, the call came: the truck would be there Monday. I was so excited. I’d been sitting on a folding chair borrowed from a neighbor watching TV on my phone for nearly three weeks by that time.

The truck pulled into the driveway, and the men started opening the back to begin unloading. The driver came and handed me the bill, which was $1,500 more than the price we’d agreed on. I gave him the cashier’s check I had (no personal checks were acceptable) and explained I hadn’t heard anything about an extra $1,500. He, rather loudly and rudely, told me that I had been informed. He had told me himself the night before. (He had not. He’d said the papers were in the truck.)

I got on the phone with the moving company. It seems they had sub-contracted to this lovely gentleman, and they had sent me an e-mail to tell me about the added amount, due to, they said, extra things he’d said he’d had to load.

I said, “Where did you sent the e-mail? Would it have gone to my computer? Where do you think my computer is right now? It’s on the truck, along with everything else I own! Why didn’t you call? I don’t have an extra $1,500 (no personal checks accepted.)”

By this point, the driver of the moving van was threatening to drive away with everything I owned. I explained I didn’t have a bank account down here yet, so I couldn’t get a cashier’s check, and my debit card only allowed me to take out $400 a day. He got back in his truck, and he, his men, and all my belongings went away.

I didn’t see my things again for three months.

I had no furniture, no clothes, no dishes or pots or pans. The only footwear I had was my suede winter boots that I’d worn down. I had nothing.

My daughter-in-law put out the word at her bank, and I started getting boxes. I got a full set of silverware. Plates and cups and bowls. Shower curtains. Towels.

I went to a thrift store and bought some really nice furniture people had donated — a cabinet, a kitchen table, a couch, and a desk, all at prices I couldn’t believe. I even found a Norman Rockwell print.

Friends from up North sent care packages and gift cards. So many people were so kind.

There was one experience that blew me away. I had to get my tires rotated, so I took the car down the road to the nearest garage. The woman behind the counter was sweet, but the mechanic was gruff. He made fun of my car, my bumper stickers — he was not nice at all.

While he was working on the car, I was talking to the woman, who turned out to be his sister-in-law. In the course of the conversation, my whole sad tale of woe came out, and we both cursed the moving man who had stolen everything I owned.

When he came out to tell me my car was done, the grumpy, gruff old mechanic told me to wait outside by my car before I left. I thought maybe he’d be nice and give me a free T-shirt to advertise his business. Instead, he handed me two $100 bills, and said, “Go buy yourself some clothes.”

I tried to give the money back, but he said, “I’m part Cherokee, and I hate stories of people being robbed.” I couldn’t thank him enough and drove down the road a little farther to the thrift store his sister-in-law had told me about. I was able to find some great jeans, shorts, a couple of T-shirts, and even a lamp.

I arrived here on March 5, 2019. I finally was able to get all my things out of storage on June 1st. My son and my daughter-in-law and her brother with a truck and I made many trips back and forth to retrieve my things. I offered them money for helping, but none of them would take any.

There are evil people in the world who will take advantage of us, right up to holding everything we own hostage until they get what they want. But there are so many other wonderful, kind, caring people out there. I truly believe the good outnumber the bad by multitudes.

I promised then, and I will keep that promise, to pay their kindness forward. And I will always be grateful to all the people who helped me, especially that gruff, grumpy old man whose heart of stone turned out to be a jewel.

Shout out to Art Bram who is going to be responsible for my next story. Blame him if you don’t like it. It was his idea.