The last week of June, 2011, I moved from Pickering, Ontario, to Ladysmith, which is a small town about 20 minutes south of Nanaimo, BC. I’d had plenty of experience moving from town to town within Ontario, so, I thought I could handle a move halfway across the country without too much difficulty.
Boy, was I wrong!
My first mistake was hiring Metropolitan Movers to load up my belongings (VegaLine Moving & Storage, in Richmond, BC, would deliver the stuff to my door in Ladysmith). They’d quoted me a reasonable price of $560 for the first 500 lbs. of furniture and personal belongings, then 11 cents for every pound after that. I lived in a 350 sq. ft. basement studio apartment with very little furniture, so, I’d calculated a final price of about $1,300, which represented every last dollar I had on this earth. I couldn’t afford one penny more.
Moving day came, and I waited for the movers to arrive at 10am. I waited...and waited. I called the office around noon to find out why they hadn’t shown up yet, and a female rep told me that their truck had broken down but would be at my place within the next two hours.
OK, shit happens. My flight to Vancouver didn’t leave until 1:30am the next morning, so, that was fine.
And, so, I waited...and I waited. Called the office again around 4pm, and was told that the truck was now behind schedule picking up other peoples’ stuff in Toronto but would be at my place, for sure, around 6pm. That was cutting it a little close for my non-refundable, one-way flight to Vancouver. But, hey, no sense getting worked up over something that I can’t control, right?
I started to get hungry (threw out all of my perishable food), anxious and tired as my watch ticked past 8:30pm, with no moving truck in sight. Finally, while on the phone with a company rep at 9:37pm, the truck rolled into my driveway with three very tired men inside. Desperate to move things along as quickly as possible so I wouldn’t miss my flight, I helped the men load all of my stuff onto the truck. It didn’t go as smoothly as I would have liked but, thankfully, there was no major disaster to contend with.
The man in charge of the move filled out pages and pages of paperwork for me to sign, then asked for my destination address, which I’d already given to several other people at Metropolitan Movers during previous phone conversations over the past two weeks. I gave him my new address in Ladysmith, on Vancouver Island, where I’d be staying with my father until I found a new job and apartment in Nanaimo.
“Vancouver Island?” he asked. “You know there’s an extra $550 charge for the ferry ride, right?”
I panicked. “Uh, no. No one at Metro Movers told me anything about that – and I can’t afford it, either. I’m already giving you guys every last penny I have in this world.”
He shrugged. “Well, can you charge it to a credit card or borrow the money from someone?”
In desperation, I called my father and he offered to throw in the extra cash.
Exhausted and in pain from all the heavy lifting, I signed the paperwork and asked the man in charge how long it would take my stuff to reach my new home, in Ladysmith.
“Five to seven days,” he said, which I thought was reasonable. I bid the three men good-bye around 11:30pm and called a cab to get me to the Toronto airport ASAP.
The flight was uneventful. Well, as uneventful as it can be for someone who hates to fly, is afraid of heights and gets serious motion sickness.
Nine days after getting all settled in at my father’s place, with only one change of clothes, my iPhone and the miscellaneous contents of my purse, I called VegaLine Moving & Storage to find out when they were going to deliver my stuff. The female customer service rep told me that the truck had yet to arrive at their warehouse, in Richmond, but was en route.
I expressed my disappointment, since I’d been told it would only take seven days, at most.
“That’s seven days in transit,” said the rep. “Once your belongings are unloaded from the truck into our warehouse, we have to wait for the first available truck to take your stuff on the ferry to your home, in Nanaimo.”
“Ladysmith,” I reminded her, then asked how much longer I had to wait.
“Next Wednesday, at the earliest,” she informed me.
“Another full week?! But you have all of my clothes, my government and legal files, my computer, which I need to write resumes and cover letters in order to find a job!”
She offered me a 5% discount for the inconvenience. I hung up the phone in disgust.
A week later, in July, I called VegaLine again to get an ETA on my stuff, and the customer service rep (a different woman this time) said, “We have 6,000 pounds of furniture and belongings to deliver, and no truck big enough to carry the load across the ferry to Nanaimo, so, you’re looking at another 7 to 10 days until one is available.”
I was livid. Again, I explained that I had been living with only one change of clothes for three weeks, no computer, no makeup or hairdryer, and it was imperative that I find a job before the end of the month (automatic withdrawals from my account with an 87 cent balance). I demanded that VegaLine deliver my stuff within the next three days.
“We don’t have your address,” the rep said, incredulously. “How can we deliver your stuff when you never even gave us your destination address?”
I pulled the phone away from my ear, stared at it in disbelief. She didn’t just say that to me, did she? I wondered to myself. I put the phone back to my ear. “You have my address. I’ve given it to every driver and every customer service rep I’ve talked to for the past six weeks.”
I heard her fussing with some paperwork. “Oh, yes, here it is. It just hadn’t been entered in the computer.” With a stern, unapologetic tone the woman insisted that I would just have to wait another week. End of discussion.
On July 20th, I called VegaLine Moving, once again, certain that I would get another run-around. But instead I got some good news...sort of.
“Oh, yes. I remember you,” said the perky female rep. “After looking at the truck full of your personal belongings we guessed that it weighed a lot less than our original estimate, so, we re-weighed it and discovered that the load was 3,000 lbs. lighter than we originally thought. So, it looks like we actually could have delivered your stuff to you last week. Sorry about that. Anyway, it’s all sorted out now and we can deliver your stuff next Tuesday, the 26th.”
Awash with relief, I thanked her. “So, you’ll call for sure on Monday to confirm a delivery time on Tuesday?”
She agreed.
Next Monday I got the expected call. All was good – except for one thing. One huge thing.
“So, the total cost, including the ferry ride and taxes, minus the 5% discount we promised, is $4,069.24,” the female rep cheerfully informed me.
I sucked in a breath. “Uh, no. No, it isn’t. I’ve already done the calculations and it should be somewhere around $1,600.”
She tapped on her computer. “No, it’s definitely $4,069. And how will you be paying for that?”
“Look,” I said, “There must be some mistake. Three thousand-eight hundred pounds, at 11 cents per pound, is — ”
“It’s 75 cents per pound.”
“No, it isn’t,” I insisted. ‘When I booked this move almost two months ago, the rep at Metropolitan Movers quoted me a price of $560 for the first 500 lbs., then 11 cents for every pound after that.”
Her tone turned ice cold. “It’s 75 cents. No one charges 11 cents. The standard fee across Canada is 75 cents per pound. That is the agreement we have with Metropolitan Movers. If you disagree with that, you’ll have to take it up with them. In the meantime, if you want your stuff delivered to you tomorrow morning, you must pay us $4,069.24 immediately, or we will sell your belongings at auction in order to recoup our money.”
By this time, I was on the floor in tears. Barely able to speak or think. I told the rep that I would call her back later in the day, once I’d straightened out this mess with Metropolitan Movers.
The female customer service rep at Metro couldn’t have been nicer to me. Once I had explained everything, through my sobbing gasps for breath, she informed me that the rep I first talked to in May, to book the move, had been fired for incompetence. Giving people the wrong quote etc. She told me to calm down, that everything would be OK. She’d talk to her boss and see if he could negotiate some sort of special arrangement with VegaLine, to get me a credit of some kind in the weeks ahead, as restitution for their massive screw-up. In the meantime, I did have to pay VegaLine the full amount they were demanding, or they would indeed sell my stuff.
My father, bless his eternal soul, is not a rich man. But he nonetheless offered to put the entire $4,069 charge on his credit card in order to ensure delivery of my belongings the next morning. If I thought that was the end of my nightmare...Oh, no, my friends. I was deeply mistaken.
The truck pulled up right on time the next morning, and the men started unloading all of my furniture and boxes. Furniture and electronics that were chipped, scratched and cracked with pieces missing. Boxes that were ripped and crushed, with contents missing, slightly damaged or a complete write-off. Eighty percent of my artwork and ceramics were destroyed. Twenty percent of my furniture and electronics had to be thrown right into the trash. My toiletries (i.e. deodorant, razors, body lotion, Q-Tips etc.), vitamins, hairdryer, makeup and professional cosmetic brushes (estimated value: $400) wasn’t in the box I packed it in. In fact, it was completely missing. And if that wasn’t bad enough, my $5,000 worth of suede and leather clothing (all of it custom dyed and custom tailored) was dumped in a crumpled heap at the bottom of a 5 ft. high box which was filled to the top with miscellaneous crap – after I’d been promised (and paid $25 for) it would be packed in an extra sturdy wardrobe box, with a hanging rack to keep them neat, before making the trek across Canada.
I looked over my contract to see how much the moving company’s insurance would pay for the estimated $900 in damage...and discovered, much to my dismay, that they only pay out a few CENTS PER POUND for damaged or missing goods. Not their actual replacement value. So, I was looking at a refund of maybe $18 to $20?
Forget it. Just...forget it.
Metropolitan Movers never contacted me, again, about a refund or credit because of the screw-up on their quote. And VegaLine remained blissfully unconcerned about the chaos and emotional strife their profound incompetence caused me.
Fucking assholes.
My first mistake was hiring Metropolitan Movers to load up my belongings (VegaLine Moving & Storage, in Richmond, BC, would deliver the stuff to my door in Ladysmith). They’d quoted me a reasonable price of $560 for the first 500 lbs. of furniture and personal belongings, then 11 cents for every pound after that. I lived in a 350 sq. ft. basement studio apartment with very little furniture, so, I’d calculated a final price of about $1,300, which represented every last dollar I had on this earth. I couldn’t afford one penny more.
Moving day came, and I waited for the movers to arrive at 10am. I waited...and waited. I called the office around noon to find out why they hadn’t shown up yet, and a female rep told me that their truck had broken down but would be at my place within the next two hours.
OK, shit happens. My flight to Vancouver didn’t leave until 1:30am the next morning, so, that was fine.
And, so, I waited...and I waited. Called the office again around 4pm, and was told that the truck was now behind schedule picking up other peoples’ stuff in Toronto but would be at my place, for sure, around 6pm. That was cutting it a little close for my non-refundable, one-way flight to Vancouver. But, hey, no sense getting worked up over something that I can’t control, right?
I started to get hungry (threw out all of my perishable food), anxious and tired as my watch ticked past 8:30pm, with no moving truck in sight. Finally, while on the phone with a company rep at 9:37pm, the truck rolled into my driveway with three very tired men inside. Desperate to move things along as quickly as possible so I wouldn’t miss my flight, I helped the men load all of my stuff onto the truck. It didn’t go as smoothly as I would have liked but, thankfully, there was no major disaster to contend with.
The man in charge of the move filled out pages and pages of paperwork for me to sign, then asked for my destination address, which I’d already given to several other people at Metropolitan Movers during previous phone conversations over the past two weeks. I gave him my new address in Ladysmith, on Vancouver Island, where I’d be staying with my father until I found a new job and apartment in Nanaimo.
“Vancouver Island?” he asked. “You know there’s an extra $550 charge for the ferry ride, right?”
I panicked. “Uh, no. No one at Metro Movers told me anything about that – and I can’t afford it, either. I’m already giving you guys every last penny I have in this world.”
He shrugged. “Well, can you charge it to a credit card or borrow the money from someone?”
In desperation, I called my father and he offered to throw in the extra cash.
Exhausted and in pain from all the heavy lifting, I signed the paperwork and asked the man in charge how long it would take my stuff to reach my new home, in Ladysmith.
“Five to seven days,” he said, which I thought was reasonable. I bid the three men good-bye around 11:30pm and called a cab to get me to the Toronto airport ASAP.
The flight was uneventful. Well, as uneventful as it can be for someone who hates to fly, is afraid of heights and gets serious motion sickness.
Nine days after getting all settled in at my father’s place, with only one change of clothes, my iPhone and the miscellaneous contents of my purse, I called VegaLine Moving & Storage to find out when they were going to deliver my stuff. The female customer service rep told me that the truck had yet to arrive at their warehouse, in Richmond, but was en route.
I expressed my disappointment, since I’d been told it would only take seven days, at most.
“That’s seven days in transit,” said the rep. “Once your belongings are unloaded from the truck into our warehouse, we have to wait for the first available truck to take your stuff on the ferry to your home, in Nanaimo.”
“Ladysmith,” I reminded her, then asked how much longer I had to wait.
“Next Wednesday, at the earliest,” she informed me.
“Another full week?! But you have all of my clothes, my government and legal files, my computer, which I need to write resumes and cover letters in order to find a job!”
She offered me a 5% discount for the inconvenience. I hung up the phone in disgust.
A week later, in July, I called VegaLine again to get an ETA on my stuff, and the customer service rep (a different woman this time) said, “We have 6,000 pounds of furniture and belongings to deliver, and no truck big enough to carry the load across the ferry to Nanaimo, so, you’re looking at another 7 to 10 days until one is available.”
I was livid. Again, I explained that I had been living with only one change of clothes for three weeks, no computer, no makeup or hairdryer, and it was imperative that I find a job before the end of the month (automatic withdrawals from my account with an 87 cent balance). I demanded that VegaLine deliver my stuff within the next three days.
“We don’t have your address,” the rep said, incredulously. “How can we deliver your stuff when you never even gave us your destination address?”
I pulled the phone away from my ear, stared at it in disbelief. She didn’t just say that to me, did she? I wondered to myself. I put the phone back to my ear. “You have my address. I’ve given it to every driver and every customer service rep I’ve talked to for the past six weeks.”
I heard her fussing with some paperwork. “Oh, yes, here it is. It just hadn’t been entered in the computer.” With a stern, unapologetic tone the woman insisted that I would just have to wait another week. End of discussion.
On July 20th, I called VegaLine Moving, once again, certain that I would get another run-around. But instead I got some good news...sort of.
“Oh, yes. I remember you,” said the perky female rep. “After looking at the truck full of your personal belongings we guessed that it weighed a lot less than our original estimate, so, we re-weighed it and discovered that the load was 3,000 lbs. lighter than we originally thought. So, it looks like we actually could have delivered your stuff to you last week. Sorry about that. Anyway, it’s all sorted out now and we can deliver your stuff next Tuesday, the 26th.”
Awash with relief, I thanked her. “So, you’ll call for sure on Monday to confirm a delivery time on Tuesday?”
She agreed.
Next Monday I got the expected call. All was good – except for one thing. One huge thing.
“So, the total cost, including the ferry ride and taxes, minus the 5% discount we promised, is $4,069.24,” the female rep cheerfully informed me.
I sucked in a breath. “Uh, no. No, it isn’t. I’ve already done the calculations and it should be somewhere around $1,600.”
She tapped on her computer. “No, it’s definitely $4,069. And how will you be paying for that?”
“Look,” I said, “There must be some mistake. Three thousand-eight hundred pounds, at 11 cents per pound, is — ”
“It’s 75 cents per pound.”
“No, it isn’t,” I insisted. ‘When I booked this move almost two months ago, the rep at Metropolitan Movers quoted me a price of $560 for the first 500 lbs., then 11 cents for every pound after that.”
Her tone turned ice cold. “It’s 75 cents. No one charges 11 cents. The standard fee across Canada is 75 cents per pound. That is the agreement we have with Metropolitan Movers. If you disagree with that, you’ll have to take it up with them. In the meantime, if you want your stuff delivered to you tomorrow morning, you must pay us $4,069.24 immediately, or we will sell your belongings at auction in order to recoup our money.”
By this time, I was on the floor in tears. Barely able to speak or think. I told the rep that I would call her back later in the day, once I’d straightened out this mess with Metropolitan Movers.
The female customer service rep at Metro couldn’t have been nicer to me. Once I had explained everything, through my sobbing gasps for breath, she informed me that the rep I first talked to in May, to book the move, had been fired for incompetence. Giving people the wrong quote etc. She told me to calm down, that everything would be OK. She’d talk to her boss and see if he could negotiate some sort of special arrangement with VegaLine, to get me a credit of some kind in the weeks ahead, as restitution for their massive screw-up. In the meantime, I did have to pay VegaLine the full amount they were demanding, or they would indeed sell my stuff.
My father, bless his eternal soul, is not a rich man. But he nonetheless offered to put the entire $4,069 charge on his credit card in order to ensure delivery of my belongings the next morning. If I thought that was the end of my nightmare...Oh, no, my friends. I was deeply mistaken.
The truck pulled up right on time the next morning, and the men started unloading all of my furniture and boxes. Furniture and electronics that were chipped, scratched and cracked with pieces missing. Boxes that were ripped and crushed, with contents missing, slightly damaged or a complete write-off. Eighty percent of my artwork and ceramics were destroyed. Twenty percent of my furniture and electronics had to be thrown right into the trash. My toiletries (i.e. deodorant, razors, body lotion, Q-Tips etc.), vitamins, hairdryer, makeup and professional cosmetic brushes (estimated value: $400) wasn’t in the box I packed it in. In fact, it was completely missing. And if that wasn’t bad enough, my $5,000 worth of suede and leather clothing (all of it custom dyed and custom tailored) was dumped in a crumpled heap at the bottom of a 5 ft. high box which was filled to the top with miscellaneous crap – after I’d been promised (and paid $25 for) it would be packed in an extra sturdy wardrobe box, with a hanging rack to keep them neat, before making the trek across Canada.
I looked over my contract to see how much the moving company’s insurance would pay for the estimated $900 in damage...and discovered, much to my dismay, that they only pay out a few CENTS PER POUND for damaged or missing goods. Not their actual replacement value. So, I was looking at a refund of maybe $18 to $20?
Forget it. Just...forget it.
Metropolitan Movers never contacted me, again, about a refund or credit because of the screw-up on their quote. And VegaLine remained blissfully unconcerned about the chaos and emotional strife their profound incompetence caused me.
Fucking assholes.
KJC
ADDENDUM:
Apparently, I'm far from the last person these people have fucked over.
