I do hate U-Haul. With a burning passion. That fleet of orange trucks threatened to derail my perfectly planned move to grad school this weekend.
The plan was to pick up the truck Friday morning, pack it Friday evening and drive off at 7 a.m. on Saturday morning.
But U-Haul had other plans.
My anger started simmering on Friday when U-Haul (hereafter known as “U-Suck”) had failed to call me by 6 p.m. with a pick-up location for my truck the next day. Which they’d promised to do. When I booked the truck. TWO WEEKS AGO.
Instead of apologies and promises to make it right, I got a surly phone operator who informed me they were “very busy” and would “probably call you tomorrow morning.”
The next morning they did call. They had a truck – in the next state over. Would I be willing to drive 50 miles to pick it up?
I wanted to reach through the phone and strangle her. “I reserved this two weeks ago. How can there be no trucks?”
“Well, we were very busy,” she actually sounded half asleep. “We couldn’t reach you yesterday to tell you.”
“But I called you three times yesterday!”
So my options were trying to find another truck (next to impossible on a weekend that falls on the last days of the month) or drive 100 miles round trip just to pick up the stupid truck. Call me crazy, but I don’t think I should have to cross state lines to pick up a rented truck – unless, perhaps, I lived in New Hampshire.
I considered homicide and grand theft auto. And then an angel named Jimmy called from Penske. He’d just gotten a truck in, he said in a thick Southern accent. Would I like it?
I could have kissed Jimmy.
So now I’m piloting a bright yellow Penske truck this weekend instead of an orange U-Haul. And I’m done with U-Haul forever – I will buy no boxes, tape, bubble wrap, nada. In fact, I spit on U-Haul. I fart in its general direction.
Pfft. Pfft! Pfft!!