Locked out

The moving house saga is already off to a rocky start. I apologise in advance if hearing about it is, well, kind of tedious. I realise in the big scheme of things it's a fairly minor irritant. But it makes me feel bit better to share this small tale of woe- and since I can't do my usual and reach for a large glass of wine to soothe the stress levels which are beginning to escalate out of control, blogging will have to be the next best thing.

OK. We signed the lease on the rental flat and picked up the keys on Wednesday- but because E. was extremely tied up with work and away on business on Thursday, we didn't get around to go over to let ourselves in until last night. I was especially chomping at the bit for E. to see the place, since he was away when I arranged to rent it.

Actually, that reminds me- I didn't tell you about the renting escapade, which in itself was a bit of a saga. You see, when I first starting looking for a flat to rent in this particular development, there were about twenty places available. The letting agency, in answer to my uber-organised advance enquiries, told me to check back "closer to the time", since it was too early to line up anything- but they assured me there would be plenty to choose from.

Then when I recently telephoned to check on availability, I was advised that there were  was only one flat for rent. One!  Only! One! Left! I was slightly freaked out to discover that the formerly abundant availability had, in the space of a month, seemingly dried up. I was ready to take it sight unseen, since we had been in a couple of the show flats previously, back when we were looking to buy, and pretty much knew exactly what the place would be like.  Alas, no. The agency absolutely insisted I had to view it before they would let me go ahead

Oh, and E. was out of the country for two whole weeks on business. Oh, and there were two other people who were interested, including a woman who was coming all the way from Spain to look at it. Oh, and they were all coming tomorrow to see it, so if I wanted it, I better come then too.

So what happens if we all want it, I asked?  Ah, well, they told me, the person with the fastest car who can get to the office quickest to hand over a cheque secures the flat. The office being on the absolute other side of town and a nightmare to get to- especially by say, public transport- my only option since I was presently without a car.

Doom, I thought. Dooooom.   

Anyway, to cut a not-very interesting story short, I ended up getting to the viewing a bit early and shown around, whereupon after the most cursory of inspections, I threw myself at the agent's feet begging to be allowed to rent it and pleading that he drive me up to the rental office in his car immediately so I could fork over vast sums of cash there and then. Maybe it was my not-so-subtle emphasis of my pregnant bump, or just the fact he wanted to close the deal, but he took pity on me and did as I asked. And I got it. I admit, I felt a teeny bit guilty when I saw the Spanish lady, who was standing patiently outside waiting to view it when we came out- but ruthlessness prevailed.

So. There we were last night, with two sets of  keys to our shiny new rental flat in our keen little paws, standing outside the main door to the block of flats, with Little Guy in tow.  Both of us were tired after a long week, and we were having a little snappy exchange about something or other- and I couldn't seem to get the door open. Distracted, I finally thrust the keys at E. and told him to do it. 

And he couldn't get the door open either. Hmm. What gives?  I tried again.  Nope. We tried all the keys on the key chain and nothing worked.  We went around to the door on the other side of the building. No joy. Door wouldn't budge. 

Problem. We had a van booked for Sunday to move a pile of essential gubbins- and the rental office is not open on weekends. Cue minor hysteria on my part. I lay awake most of last night, counting the shadows on the wall and trying to figure why the hell the keys would not work.

Much frantic phoning around this morning ensued- we tried the development sales office, figuring since they were two months behind schedule with having our HOUSE ready, they might be able to assist us with gaining access to the rental flat in the block next door. Nope, the flats having all been sold, they no longer had any keys.  Hey, why didn't we just phone a locksmith to the lock changed, the bright spark at the sales office suggested perkily. 

Um, because it's a communal main door to the block, and the other residents might not be so keen on that?  Yeah. Oh.

Finally, finally, finally, I got through to the rental office owner on his mobile phone.  He was, shall we say, less than thrilled that I was phoning him at 11am on a Saturday.  I explained the situation. I acknowledged it was unfortunate that we had been unable to discover the problem until last night, after the office had closed, but the bottom line is, we couldn't get in. And you know what he said?  Wait for it.

He said, coldly, "Well, what do you want me to do about it?"

At which point I felt myself about to go into near nuclear meltdown.  ARRRRRGGGGH.  Somehow, I held it together enough to say, albeit with a certain amount of outraged spitting and fury, "Well. For starter's, I would like for you to arrange a set of keys that actually enable us to gain access to the flat we are renting through your agency. Do you think that would be too much to ask?  Since otherwise we will have to cancel our moving van, at considerable cost and inconvience to ourselves, and lose an entire weekend, which in my micro-managed moving battle plan, DOES NOT WORK." 

Upshot: he eventually made some calls, and somebody from the office came down in the afternoon to unenthusiastically let us in. Cause of the problem?  It turns out they had failed to give us the main door keys. 

Happily, the flat is very nice, and should work out fine for the two months or so we'll be there.  And I gave myself a firm talking-to this afternoon that for the sake of our unborn child, I simply MUST chill out about everything and stop running around like a loon, bug-eyed with stress.   But honestly.  It really is a trying time.

Comments

[Lut C.]

It may be a minor irritant in the grand scheme of things. But at the time, it must have felt like a disaster. Good thing you got it sorted.

[Stephanie]

I would have gone ballistic too. You are paying for a space from him, which he has not given you access to. In fact, you have already paid him for it- so yeah, I too would have insisted he give me access immediately- unless, of course, he would have preferred the cops be called b/c he took your money and did not provide the requested space????

[Boulder]

Having moved 8 times in 15 years with my husband, I feel your pain. On the last move we asked whether it would be possible to have access 2 days early - so that we could have a weekend to use for a few big pieces. The answer - most certainly, for a prorated amount. Because they might rent the unoccupied place for 2 days prior to our contract?

We waited. Asshole.

[MotherLawyer]

I'm not pregnant, it's not my move and my blood pressure was boiling over that one just reading it. What idiots! Glad you got the keys in time, it was the least they could do for you. GRRRR. Lousy customer service really irritates me.

[Sam]

Moving is horrid, spew away with your woes and worries. I'll stick around and listen.

[laura]

Such excitement! I'd love to hear more about this apartment, as well as the other new place.