Moving is stressful. My wife and I found out baby #2 was coming and we realized if there was a time to move, it was now. We found a home fairly quickly and decided to schedule a moving container so we could start loading up over the few weeks before we closed. We saw PODS matched prices and thought, well, they must be solid, they’ll match any price and we see them everywhere. OH BOY WERE WE IN FOR A DEEP DICKING!
They showed up and the driver ran up in the yard, creating a trench, which my wife tripped in a week later walking in the front yard, twisting her ankle badly. We let that go – there were low power lines and mistakes happen. Her ankle still hurts, months later. Then came the big moving week. Our sellers moved the closing date about four times on us, so once we finally got confirmation, I called PODS several days in advance to change our pickup day to a Saturday. They hemmed and hawed, saying it wasn’t enough notice, but I said I would pay more. The rep put me on hold, then came back and said no problem. Dropping it off Saturday in the street, in front of our new house, so it would be ready for the movers Sunday we hired. All good! I must not have heard the thunder clap when that was promised.
Saturday morning, I got a voicemail from the driver. He wasn’t going to pick up the pod because, as fate would have it, he was at the new house picking up our sellers’ pods and was told he needed the driveway open for a moving truck. I called the seller, explained the pod was going on the street, he was fine with that. Never mind that’s what the instructions specifically said and the driver didn’t (or couldn’t?) read them. I assume didn’t over couldn’t, but I’m open minded. The driver wasn’t answering his phone, so I called customer service. Someone will call you right back, sir! No one did. So I called the driver again and again – finally got him. I explained the drop was on the street, not the driveway, so all parties were happy, even the seller, who was there that Saturday. The driver then told me he still had to clear it with his boss. I asked if it’s standard practice to let another customer cancel your order. He just said, “I have to check with my boss.” You know, like when you order a Big Mac, someone behind you tells the cashier, “Oh, he doesn’t need it!” while they point at your ass and make the too big hand motion. The cashier naturally has to check with management before giving you a sammich.
He called back, saying he couldn’t make it happen now. So, in other words, I was on my own to unload a pod that had a piano, my work clothes, our beds, my daughter’s toys, our shoes, and countless other items. It wasn’t going to be at the new house for our movers. I called the customer service line, rather wired at this point. After all, my then 2nd trimester pregnant wife and mother in law contemplating knee replacement weren’t going to be asked to unload it, so I guess I had better make sure they hold up to their agreement.
The man was nice and told me he would check. After being on hold for 20 more minutes, not counting the 20-30 minutes I was calling the driver and customer service the first time, he came back saying they couldn’t help me. They had to obtain permission from our new city. Well, this “customer” had enough at that point. Why? Their website said I HAD TO GET PERMISSION FROM THE CITY MYSELF, WHICH I HAD. I paid Columbus $80 to park the pod at first, then had to get verbal permission from Upper Arlington for the pod, which I did ACCORDING TO THEIR WEBSITE. I DID ALL THE WORK. PODS sure as shit took my money right away, while I had to drive downtown at 7:30 am to get the first permit on a work day (I was late for work that day). Now they were telling me THEY had to get permission, so that’s why they cancelled. Shouldn’t they have done, I don’t know, days earlier at least? Or made sure their rep knew that? Or make sure their website knew that? Sounds like a liar liar pants on fire to me!
I began to raise my voice and told the guy I had permission and based on Upper Arlington’s website, the police department issues permission and it was on me. He then told me they couldn’t get ahold of anyone in Upper Arlington. I lost it at this point. “SO YOU’RE TELLING ME IF YOU’RE GETTING MURDERED IN UPPER ARLINGTON ON A SATURDAY AFTERNOON, YOU’RE STRAIGHT FUCKED BECAUSE THE COPS ONLY WORK WEEKDAYS?” He became rather flustered. I continued. “YOU AND YOUR WEBSITE DON’T EVEN SAY THE SAME THING. YOU ARE GOING TO PUT A PERSON ON THE FUCKING PHONE THAT CAN GET MY GODDAMN POD HERE, I DON’T CARE IF I HAVE TO TALK TO JOHNNY FUCKING PODS HIMSELF, YOU’RE PICKING THIS FUCKING POD UP NOW!” Um, hold please. I was on hold for 40 minutes. Now well over an hour gone, all because a driver let another customer cancel my pick up, because he didn’t read the instructions.
A very gruff manager then finally answered. “We are NOT going to deliver this pod today. It’s NOT happening. So you need to make a decision, we can bring it the POD station for you to unload (that’s great, it’s really convenient to driver farther away and hand unload it into a truck, great option PODS!) or you can wait until Monday.” I explained how they were failing me, with quite a few four letter helpers, and the grumpy Allyson threatened to hang up on me for yelling. She began telling me how it was. “Hey we dropped the ball and ruined your entire order, but you better be nice about it! I gave you the convenient option to unload it onto another moving container at a location not anywhere close to where you are!” Plus if they could move it farther away, why not just move it to my damn house? My wife actually came outside because my screams were still bouncing off the pristine streets of our old neighborhood. I had to use breathing exercises I saw on Sesame Street to get myself to speak without spitting venom, but God is miraculous and I managed. What happened next made it personal.
The manager then told me I needed written proof, which was contrary to what the city website said for UA and the rep that booked this over the phone never asked for. While I was on the phone, my wife called the city police, actually got the written proof in under four minutes. UNDER FOUR MINUTES. I emailed it to the manager in Columbus that was blocking the pickup. I asked to speak directly to Michael, the manager that was holding up the entire process, despite the written proof, which I had also offered to drive to his office. I was told despite this, they needed to take care of customers and wouldn’t waste time with me. I told her that I was a customer too, unless they wanted to refund all my money. I told her I wasn’t calling to ask them to go the movies. Still no. No. NO. NO. I want to talk to your boss. No. I want to talk to the local manager Michael. No. I said very clearly, are you unwilling to even try to call him and see that he got the email? No. I somehow didn’t curse at her, but I made sure to get a list of names involved. I was told police weren’t city officials at one point also, so I’ll let the cops know that next time I get pulled over. Thanks for the tip, PODS. They were literally making it up as they went not to deliver my pod, which I wanted to smear my own feces on at this point.
Over an hour, I hung up with no resolution. My wife then called and spent another 40 minutes talking to Jessica. I mention her name, because she tried to help. At least the rep called Michael the Elusive. He finally said he looked at Google maps and it was “unsafe.” Unsafe? The police, public officers of the law and safety said OK. Why then did PODS suddenly say it wasn’t safe? There are no trees or power lines at the drop site. Why didn’t PODS check it when I made the appointment? They didn’t pick it up until Monday and I had to unload their largest pod BY MYSELF. I got every piece of furniture, tote, crate and bag. Of course this was after sleeping without bedding for two nights (packed in the pod) and wearing the same clothes to work two days in a row (in the pod). That’s nice, because I NEVER sweat.
Counting the calls, emails and fact I had to hand unload the pod; I lost over six hours of my life and probably six weeks due to the blind rage that flowed in my veins. I reached to customer service and they put an incident manager on my report who would handle it. It’s been, today, 61 days since our first communication and she is STILL REVIEWING THE CASE. IT’S A MOTHERFUCKING POD. IT’S NOT QUANTUM PHYSICS. Pick up the pod, drop the pod. Know the laws of street drops because that’s your entire job and purpose. Pick up the pod when agreed to. Don’t tell paying customers you can’t be bothered to have the pissing match manager to check his ego and don’t keep changing the excuse because you refuse to help. THIS IS SO COMPLICATED! I NEED FOUR YEARS TO LOOK INTO THIS. I think they’re going to hire Robert Mueller for this case.
In summation, use any other company besides PODS. If you use them, you’re an idiot, because this could happen to you. They’ll take your money, insult you, not follow up, not fact check, allow other more important people to take over your account and never respond. Hope my money was worth it PODS! Your problem is you thought I was give up. You thought I would quit. You figured I wouldn’t use you again (correctly) and thought I would just kick some dirt and say aw shucks (nope). Well, I don’t know how many people read this blog, but this is shot number one. I’m reaching out to every website review I can and making sure people don’t ever give a nickel to your turd factory and Michael in Columbus has no PODS to have to worry about, since he’s too busy to talk to customers. I’m making sure Allyson won’t be bothered with customer complaints, since no one will use PODS. I’m making certain the driver can’t tear up yards or let other customers cancel orders, as there won’t be any other customers to schedule. Take my money, PODS and smell it. Roll around in it. Throw it up in the air and dance in the cash rain. It’s going to go away from you in hundreds and hopefully thousands of lost accounts starting now.
(Alarm goes off, moves arm seven inches to turn off) Dog immediately detects movement, either shoves icy nose into my face or jumps on me, wiping out any chance of extending sleep. Realize now that I’m up I have to take a leak. Let dog out, go to pee, cat now jumps on counter, begins meowing for treat aka threatening to wake up the entire house. Now have to take a leak more, but grabs cat food, feeds cat. Cat sniffs food, walks away, unimpressed.
Turns towards bathroom, dog is jumping on back door, spreading mud everywhere. Lets dog in, wipes paws. Dog starts whining for food, threatening to wake up entire house. Get dog food, may piss pants. Sees dog is back asleep on dog bed by time food is put in dish. Head for bathroom finally, thinking about giving pets to good home. Daughter stirs, crying out for hot milk. Starts hot water, contemplates urinating in sink. Does get to finally blow nose while waiting, tissue in winter looks like someone went through a plate glass window. Wonders if any blood is left in body. Takes milk upstairs, daughter has fallen back asleep. All for naught. Finally relieves self, second alarm goes off on phone while hands are occupied, wakes entire house. Puts reminder on phone to get adult diapers and not have to do this routine again.
As it gets colder, I remembered the string of shows I agreed to do in December of 2012. The weekend before Christmas, I had a run of shows over four days that started in Sault Ste Marie, Michigan at an Indian casino on a Thursday. It took (best guess) 14 days to get there. The snow was so bad that my car got stuck on the off ramp. Luckily, I had an old towel in the trunk I was able to shove under the tire and get moving. I knew I couldn’t stop, so I barreled through every stop sign left on my route, but in fairness, I was going 12 mph. The turnout, by the way, was low – apparently doing a show with no stage in a cafeteria during a blizzard is less than ideal.
My next show was Saturday, where I had two at a casino in Milwaukee, but they were putting me up in a nice hotel in downtown Milwaukee. The issue? I had to drive across the Upper Peninsula. The snow was so deep already that the middle of the two lane road was being used only – you couldn’t see the edge lines. So, I drove about an hour a pop before I saw a lonely dump truck full of Sasquatch oil or whatever they haul in in the North Pole, then I drifted over enough to offer prayers of mercy that I didn’t get run over or go into a ditch and die alone next to a gas station that had been closed since 1943. Needless to say, I was glad to have the extra day to travel. I would have enjoyed Milwaukee, but it was 13 degrees out, so I didn’t leave my room other than to get a 12 pack and do the shows. They didn’t go well, in case you were wondering. One had about 10 people, one about 18 and in total, 27 didn’t like me. The headliner won over the crowd, only 23 didn’t like him.
Finally, I had to go back north to Escanaba, Michigan and I regretted starting comedy. I contemplated seeing a fortune teller like on the movie Big, so I could get a card that made it so I never had done comedy ever before. The casino there was an Island theme, which looked great against a background of snow that resembled the planet Hoth from the Empire Strikes Back. That show actually went very well – huge turnout and great crowd reaction. Of course, then I chose to take the longer route through Chicago just to avoid the Upper Peninsula, so I drove the entire day Monday, actually excited to drive in Chicago holiday traffic because that meant other humans existed in the area I was in, which normally I hate.
For all my toils, I made a small profit of several hundred dollars (gas ate a few hundred bucks of my pay) and did irreparable damage to my car, but I got see the safest area from a nuclear attack in the continental US and rundown several survival scenarios in my head involving sub zero temperatures. When I hear a young comic talking about wanting to get road work, my mind drifts back and I smile a bit, realizing they probably have no idea what in the hell it’s really like. Make sure you take a road flare, some firewood and a trunk full of beef jerky – you’ll need it.
#1 (Finds wife’s magnifying mirror) “Holy crap, this mirror makes my nose look huge like an old drunk.”
Wife: “Isn’t that what you’re trying to be?”
“Well, I don’t want anyone to know about it.”
#2 “I should have taken a leak before we left to come to the zoo. Where in the hell is the bathroom? You think I can go right here?”
Wife: “Well, there’s trees, but probably not.”
“I’ve seen what those rhinos do, it’s much worse than what I can do.”
#3 “Looks like I’m going to make the fantasy football playoffs in a couple leagues.”
Wife: (Not paying attention)
“I could win some money.”
Wife: “Oh that’s cool, how much?!”
Boy, should this blog be unnecessary, but apparently it’s needed now more than ever. Here we go!
DON’T SHOW YOUR WANG TO PEOPLE! Here’s a tip (no pun intended) to men: It’s not sexy. Women are attracted to what it’s attached to and perhaps what it does. Sadly, although you think it’s a big turn-on, no one wants to see it. In fact, most people (98-99.7%) are actually repulsed! I know! It’s CRAZY! Who wouldn’t want to see your 60 year old venous flesh whip? Keep it in your pants, when in doubt…or always. Especially at work.
DON’T GRAB WOMEN’S ANYTHING, WHETHER THEY ARE ASLEEP OR AWAKE. Believe it or not, women tend to let you know when they want to be touched. Typically, it’s after a long courting process that leads to something called a “relationship” or they will flat out tell you. Strangely, most don’t want to be fishhooked, groped, palmed, stroked, rubbed, accosted, squeezed, tongued, licked, nuzzled, or even dry humped off the ol’ cuff. Calm down, calm down, I know it’s tough to learn these things at your age. Oh, wait, you’re in your 50’s? You’re a scumbag – I’m sorry, I thought you learned these things at 5 years old like the rest of us.
NO, YOU CAN’T USE EXCUSES OR PAST ACCOMPLISHMENTS TO EXCUSE IT. But I’ve done a lot of good! OK, great, still a creep. Just because you made a good movie or worked reeeeaaaallllyyy hard on a bill your staff or lobbyists probably wrote for you, you still can’t be an el molestor. How about you do those good things and NOT sexually assault people? Then we are good to go! Amazing!
Well that should cover it, I think. Quick thoughts – this is America and get what you can, but how does someone make $25 million for being a host of a show and still have enough free time to molest people at work? I make a bit less than that and I don’t have 21 seconds to wee sometimes. Another one, how did Congress get by for years not having a sexual harassment policy? Before just now, the accuser had to file in a short window, go to counseling and basically sign a confidentiality agreement to keep their yaps shut. That should show you what was going on there. Lastly, people of the world, please stop making excuses because you like the person’s work. “I can’t believe what that guy did! Hold on, let me Google their abortion position…never mind, I’m cool with it.” You don’t get a pass because it’s been a while, you’re a former civil rights icon, you’re a comedian, you’re a powerful TV or movie person and defending these slime makes you look like an ass also. Hopefully that covers it, but I think by the time you’ve read this, three more perverts have been outed, so let’s hope for the best.
“What animals live in the woods?” G: “Elephant.” “I think that’s more Africa, but we’ll roll with it. What other animals live in Africa?” G: “Lion. Gorilla.” “Very good! What else?” G: …… (Oh crap, now I have to think of animals.) Suddenly, she speaks, keeping dad from saying eagles like he does for every answer. “Dragons.” “Hmm. Well, I’ve never been to Africa, so let’s just go with that. And eagles. Good job.”
Opens door, which she closes when it’s time for number 2. “Hey peanut, can I check your diaper?” G looks around, grabs a half an apple and hands it to me. “Stinky!” “I think the apple isn’t the problem.” Then I remembered I had to change the diaper, smelled the apple to be sure, hoping for the best.
G, running around after a diaper change. “Where did pants go?” “Oh, if dad had a dollar for every time he’s said that after a few beers!” (Looks around to see if wife heard that comment.)
When discussing food. “Do you want peanut butter?” G: “Ice keem.” “How about ham?” G: “Ice keem. Ice keem.” “OK, maybe after, how about hummus?” G: “Ice keem? Ice keem!” (Fast forward three minutes.) “Oh hell, you’re getting ice keem.”