Stuff It

So, our move to Japan - or I should say, stuff's move to Japan - consisted of three parts. The first was what the government (Navy, in this case) calls your quick ship. That's up to 800 pounds of whatever you want to have shipped via air so it gets to you quickly. Then, when you actually leave for your new home base, you can bring up to 3 large suitcases per person with whatever you want to have on hand immediately upon arrival in your new port. The third, and final, piece of the puzzle is what is called the "Household Goods Shipment." And yes, the Navy refers to it as your HHG shipment.

The first two legs of this 3-legged stool were really no problem other than having to essentially choose your daily wardrobe from amongst a very limited number of clothing articles since you can only bring so much. And, having never done this before, we certainly would have included different selections in our initial quick ship - for example, more underwear. Just saying. They don't sell my brand here, and I'm very particular about my skivvies.

“That’s all your house is: a place to keep your stuff while you go out and get more stuff!" - George Carlin.

The day finally arrived when our household goods...err... HHG shipment arrived. My angel of a wife offered to take the day off work to help deal with the movers, but I said, "Nah... this is no big deal. I got this and will have dinner waiting on the stove when you get home this evening." You see, the belief at that juncture was that we had done a stellar job of pairing down our stuff before we left Texas. I mean, we cut to the bone. Cuz here's the thing: our allotted HHG shipment weight was 18,000 pounds. We came in at a meager 8,000 pounds. No problem!! The two dots we failed to connect were Texas vs. Japan. Unless we were moving into the Shire, I don't think you could find a more seismic shift in lifestyles.

So, at 9am on the dot (our delivery window was between 9am and noon - and of course, being the ever efficient, punctual, timely, and meticulous culture that they are, it was 9am or live with great shame), a reasonably sized moving truck. I mean, it didn't have 18 wheels, so we're good, right?

Four guys pop out of the truck, full of smiles and gusto, and proceed to go about their business. The leader - who spoke English - came in and took a tour of the inside of our traditional-style Japanese home, and, well, that smile soon left his face. I couldn't understand why, but as the day progressed, I soon would.

OK, so we go back out front where the side of the moving truck was opened up like a gullwing door on a Delorean. They all were happily bouncing around, cracking open crates. Yes, your stuff gets crated up in huge wooden crates when you move with the government internationally. (Hmmm... maybe it gets crated up in huge wooden crates regardless of with whom you move when you move internationally. I don't know; this is my first experience.) The crates measured about 4 feet wide and 8 feet high. And there were 4 of them. Or so I thought. Eventually they whittled down the contents of enough crates to where I could then notice the one additional crate that ran along the entire back side of all the other crates! When the contents of all crates were eventually emptied onto our tiny front lawn, it eclipsed the sun.

My job during the unloading process? I was given a clipboard containing tiny squares, each with a number ranging from 1 to 300. I quickly learned each number corresponded to the tag placed on each box or item, and I was to initial each little box as it was carried from the truck and its handler called out its number to me in broken English. I thought, well, that's probably just the standard since 300 numbers fit neatly onto the page. There's no way we have that many individual items/boxes. And I was quickly proven right as the contents of the truck were fully emptied, and I still have plenty of un-initialed number boxes on my checksheet.

The truck was now empty, and one of the guys drove it away. Hot damn! Now we can focus on the next phase, moving inside and directing the movers on which room each box should be placed in. I thought, OK, cool. This is good. Let's get everything off the lawn before the neighbors all get home from work and place it into its designated resting place. My wife and I can then spend a leisurely Saturday afternoon slicing open boxes and placing things away neatly. Yes, I was overwhelmed by the amount of stuff that we somehow thought was important enough to move to Japan, but I felt it was manageable. I could get this squared away and still crank out dinner for the missus.

It was about this time I noticed that a considerable amount of spring had gone from the steps of these once zealous, gung-ho movers. I chalked this up to them having busted their butts for the last four hours, but they are used to this. They'll power through.

Turns out it was now, according to lead mover guy, break time. For an hour.

OK, fine. Y'all take your break. I'll put down my clipboard and go see what I can do to help get things sorted inside the house. We'll knock this out soon after y'all grab a break.

Break time was over, and I felt more encouraged that this was no big deal. We got this. I know where everything goes, and with one last push from the movers, we can get everything sorted, the bed put together, and the kitchen boxes emptied, and I can STILL have dinner ready in time. I thought, man, this was really intense. I had no idea how much stuff we were moving here from Texas. I even was thinking some of our furniture was looking a bit oversized for our new Japanese home (as evidenced by our dresser reaching 3/4ths of the way up the wall towards the ceiling). But, whatever, we'll shoehorn everything in. I'll make it fit!

It was at this point the lead mover guy told me the guy who drove the truck away after it was empty was on his way back. With the second truck.

To be continued...