By Christy Brewer
So, I’ll have to just admit a bunch of stuff up front. After living in the same house for eight years with three boys (okay, one of them is Hubby), you accumulate stuff. And, although I’d like to think I’m Martha Stewart (Confession #1), I didn’t keep up with donating stuff as we were done with it. Both my basement and garage were packed with junk (Confession #2). No, you don’t understand. I couldn’t see the floor. Really, we’re talking about opening a box and finding Mike’s first computer, an Apple IIe.
Why were we saving this stuff, anyway?
Over the course of a month, Mike changed jobs and all of a sudden I find myself orchestrating relocation of our family to Greenville, South Carolina. Insert all that advice about “staging” a house for sale, and I realized I had a problem.
Now, you can’t sort through stuff if you can’t move it from one pile to another. Not when it’s all one, big pile. Then, you realize that your usual weekly trash pickup: 1) won’t take that much stuff in one trip and 2) won’t take computers, water heaters, and yard waste after November 30. Oh, and I can’t lift much, since I’m a shrimp (Confession #3).
Plus, I had no time to recycle.
Who saved me? A great company called “800-Got-Junk?” I didn’t realize that this was more than just a dumpster delivered to my driveway. The dumpster comes with two people who can lift stuff much heavier than me. The two people who came to my house were both dressed in clean uniforms and extremely friendly, without being weird.
They toured my piles of confessions, made notes, and quoted me a price. (Okay, it cost much more than just the dumpster, which is Confession #4—I’ll pay for convenience.) Then, without me having to lift a finger, they hauled all the stuff up from my basement with nothing more than a tiny, shallow scratch on the floor by the door. My freshly painted door trim is still in tact.
They even swept up and shook out the rug in the entry. I just about fell over.
Did I mention that they showed up on time? I signed up for a two-hour block on the Web site, and they called 15 minutes before that two-hour block to give me a specific arrival time.
I happily handed over a check after one hour of their time, and waved goodbye to all those confessions. Now I can go back to believing I have a shot at a house like Martha’s.