Moving Difficulties; Ass Station Attendant; New, Hot (Kinda) Girlfriend in New Beginnings

Much has happened since I last wrote, some awesome, some not so much, and some I’m not sure what to think. First of all, I’ve moved into my new place. I closed on the 30th and moved what few things I had at the room I was renting over that night. For that Friday, I purchased a bus ticket to Atlanta. My plan was to leave my car at the bus station for a couple of days, take the bus to Atlanta, Uber to my house, rent a U-Haul trailer, hook it to the back of my truck, and move everything to my new place on Sunday. Monday was Labor Day, which I had off, so I could use that day to retrieve my car, run errands, and generally unpack.

The bus schedule said it would arrive at the station at 9:00 pm. The bus station in question was actually a gas station, a pertinent fact for later. My promptness at the bus station was irrelevant because the bus was over a half hour late. Whatever. Traffic is what it is, and that’s not the driver’s or Greyhound’s fault. The fact that an accident on the way made us take a long detour into Atlanta is not the driver’s or the company’s fault. The fact that the other riders were a bit on the unruly side is not the driver’s or the company’s fault. On that subject, I don’t mean to sound elitist, and I realize that bus riders are seldom of the most well-to-do demographic, but you’d think they’d not actively want to make undertakings like this more miserable. You’d think not putting on perfume in an enclosed space with other people who might have allergies or just not appreciate your choice of fragrance would be an obvious decision. You’d think keeping your drinks in a closed container so you don’t spill cola on a seat of an already packed bus would be equally obvious choice. You’d think you’d try to be as space efficient as you can with your body and belongings for the benefit of the other passengers. Yeah, the only seat available for me if I didn’t want to sit in a large puddle of Coke was next to a slightly larger fellow who made no attempt confine himself to one seat. I sat down next to him and slowly claimed my territory during the ride. Like I said, none of that is the driver’s or the company’s fault, but good grief, no WiFi?!?! I feel a bit spoiled and entitled complaining about the internet service being down, but that was stated feature of the bus, and it was the only thing that would have made such a ride tolerable, so of course it was down.

Nonetheless, we finally arrived in Atlanta around 11:00 pm. I ordered an Uber to my house. Fortunately, my driver wasn’t very chatty, as I was obviously in no mood to talk. I arrived at midnight, sat with the cats for a bit, then went to bed. I got up the next morning, and rented my trailer. I don’t have a lot of stuff, and I don’t have any heavy stuff (all my appliances are staying). I just have a mattress, a sectional sofa, and a recliner that are not heavy, but large enough that they can’t be easily moved by one person. The week before, my neighbor had offered to help me load those items up before I left, so of course they would decide to go camping over Labor Day weekend at the last minute. No matter, I had reserved a couple of furniture dollies from U-Haul, so I could move those items on my own without too much extra difficulty. How’d that work out? Of course that U-Haul service center wouldn’t have any furniture dollies on hand. It seems to me that if you don’t have those items, one shouldn’t be able to reserve them. Well, I have my own hand truck, which I was able to jury-rig into a somewhat suitable furniture dolly. With the patience of Job, I loaded everything up. Unfortunately, I probably should have rented a truck rather than a trailer because I could only load half my stuff. How do I have so much? When I look around, my place is pretty bare, but somehow, I just didn’t have enough space. I test drove my truck with the attached trailer, bought a frozen pizza from Kroger for dinner, and spent the rest of the night playing on my laptop until bed.

Sunday, I woke up and corralled Calico and Patches into their pet carriers. Note that these carriers are soft body carriers, so while I was walking around to make sure I didn’t forget anything, Calico was able to “Wolverine” her way through the netting. Thankfully, I had a spare, so I put her in that, and immediately loaded both of them into my truck’s cab. I arrived at my new place around 12:00pm. Once I arrived, I immediately brought Patches and Calico into the master bathroom, opened the door to the back yard, and let them out to explore. I put a few of my items with my and their odors on them outside, so they could track the scent to their new home. Calico comes back every evening to spend the night with me, but I haven’t seen Patches since.

That sad aside a side, I unloaded everything and by 2:00pm, then I decided to make one more trip. I made the 2 hour drive to return to my old house, loaded up my remaining items, and drove back. No, I still didn’t get everything. At least, I couldn’t load the stuff I was going to give away. I should have gotten rid of them during one of the previous weeks. I finally got back to my new place and unloaded everything by 11:00pm. I returned the trailer to a local U-Haul store, and returned home, to my new home, to crash.

I slept in a little on Monday. After getting up and eating breakfast, I ordered an Uber to that gas station to retrieve my car. I arrive, walk up to my car, unlock it with the remote, sit down in driver’s seat, and crank it up with the key. About that time, I notice the gas station attendant approaching me. He was a short, older, portly southern Asian fellow, and obviously not a native English speaker, but I’ll transcribe what I understood him to say.

“Do you know how long this car has been here?” he asked somewhat bluntly.

“A couple of days,” I respond.

He became more forceful, “Can you prove this is your car? How do I know you’re not stealing it?”

“I took the bus to Atlanta Friday night and left it here. What’s the big deal?”

“I can’t let you take this car,” he snapped! You need to come inside and prove to me it’s yours.

I was wavering between confusion and anger. “I have my registration and license,” I say as I pop open the glove box to retrieve my registration card.

“You can’t take this car! I’m going to call the cops.”

At this point, I stepped out of the car, noticeably riled up. “It’s my car! You can’t stop me from taking it.”

“If you drive off, I’m reporting you to the police for car theft.”

“I have my registration right here!”

“You need to come inside and show me your ID,” he retorts walking back to the store.

I proceed to follow him, not sure what to do. I’m inclined to continue arguing, but he’s walking away, and whether I comply or confront him, I have to follow. Unfortunately, I habitually lock and close the car door, and it’s at that point I realize that during the confusion and commotion I left my keys sitting on the driver seat. I let out a loud F-bomb uncharacteristic of me.

Between the previous confrontation and my locking my keys in the car, I find myself paralyzed with fury. Not that I couldn’t move, but I was moving in a haze, not really cognizant of my actions. I walked into the store and up to his counter, where I hand him my license and registration. He irritatingly looked at them and wrote something down, then returned them. After which, I returned to my car to address this new problem.

I remember I have a spare key at my house, so I call an Uber to take me home. The Uber arrives, and as I’m getting in the car, a cold realization strikes me. My house is locked, and the house key is on my key chain in the car. Under this new stress, I ask my driver to wait just one minute, as I return to my car to ponder this new problem. He asks me what’s going on and if he can help. I explain current predicament with my keys, and he recommends we go back to my house to make sure I had locked it up as I remembered. During the drive, he asks me how my day is going otherwise, obviously aware of how stressed I am. I explain to him what just happened with the station attendant, trying to keep my pissed-off-edness in check. I felt like I was about to start foaming at the mouth. He was very understanding and sympathetic, and after talking about my day so far, he steered the conversation to more pleasant subjects. Where was I from? What did I do? Why did I move? Did I have any family?

We got back to my house, and walked around. Sure enough, it was locked up as I thought. At this point, I new I’d have to call a locksmith. I called one immediately, and she said she could send someone to me, but it would take a few hours. My driver asked what I wanted to do, and I decided on returning to the gas station to wait. The local mall is somewhat adjacent to that gas station, and he offered to drop me off there so I wouldn’t have to wait in such a hostile environment. I decided to return to the gas station anyways, if for no other reason than hoping that my presence makes the attendant as uncomfortable as I was miserable. In an act of charity or perhaps pity, the driver didn’t charge me for the return trip, so I gave him a large tip when I completed his rating.

After waiting at the gas station for about 15 minutes, I got the idea to call a few other locksmiths to see if anyone else could come immediately. I found an available person, and within 20 minutes, I was in my car. So basically, a $15 dollar car trip cost me an extra $85 because a vigilante gas station attendant decided to exercise authority he didn’t really have.

Looking back, I don’t know why I was so compliant. Why didn’t I just tell him off? Why didn’t I just get in my car and drive away? What was he going tell the police? I doubt the police would have considered a guy unlocking and cranking up a car with a key suspicious and worthy of investigation. Why didn’t I just say, “I’m not going to show you my identification.” “As long as we’re throwing around baseless accusations, how do I know you’re not an identity thief or that you didn’t kill the real gas station attendant and assume his life?” I really wish it didn’t take me several hours to think of the best way to respond to stuff like that. This is why I don’t interact with people regularly.

In more positive news, my old house was listed on the market yesterday morning. We had one visitor that night, and six more stopped by today. There were literally more prospective buyers than time would allow. I already have an offer for the listing price. My realtor suggested I wait until tomorrow afternoon to see if any other offers are made. It’ll be nice to get that old house off my payroll.

What else. Ah, yes. Erica. We’ve been talking at least a couple of times a week, and every conversation so far has been easy. We talk about everything from our past experiences to what’s going on in daily lives right now. We had the DTR (Define the Relationship)conversation during my last night at my old house. I was honest with her. I told her that I really liked her. I told her that we seem really compatible in terms of beliefs, values, and goals, and that I think about her a lot. I explained that I wasn’t sure if she felt the same way about me, and that if she didn’t, she didn’t owe me anything, but if we were going to proceed there’s the issue of the physical distance between us. At this point she stopped me and explained that she’s crazy about me, and wants to keep talking to and getting to know me. She also brought up the issue about the distance, and that she didn’t know what to do. I gave her my thoughts while being cautious to point out that I didn’t feel comfortable committing to anything. On that note, we both agreed we shouldn’t decide anything until we’ve met in person at least once. All that said, if we do decide to become serious at one point, I difficultly admitted (difficult to myself, not so much to her) that it would make more sense for me to relocate to where she lives. She has her family there. She has her friends there. She has a successful business there. All I really have holding me where I just moved is my sentimentality. All that said, I explained to her that it would most certainly take at least a couple of years before I could move if our relationship came to that point. I mean, I really like what I’m doing now, and while I could likely find an identical opportunity where she lives, I need to accumulate a few years of work experience before seeking new opportunities. She agreed, and said she’d be willing to wait.

I’m not sure how to feel. On the one hand, I’ve waited so long to get where I am. This is where I’ve wanted to move to for almost a decade. Life has a sense of humor. Of course as soon as I get this, something would necessitate that I give it up. Honestly, a part of me prefers that I didn’t respond to her interest in me from Match. If for no other reason, at least I wouldn’t have to wrestle with this dilemma. Then, every time we talk, I’m reminded why I said what I said about moving for her. Presuming she’s not just telling me what I want to hear, she checks every box I have for a potential spouse. Every single box, including some I didn’t think I cared about. She’s beautiful, she’s sweet, she’s open, she’s successful, she doesn’t want kids, she’s good with money, and she has a great family. Furthermore, if you recall, one of the problems I had with Holly that I have a certain physical desire I’m embarrassed to discuss, which I want my future wife to be willing to fulfill. Holly initially said she couldn’t accommodate it. Eventually, she said she thought she overreacted on the subject and would be willing to do it, but she eventually admitted that she thought once we had sex, I wouldn’t have that itch that needed scratching. When I told Erica about it, she said she thought it was wonderful. That’s literally what she said, “I think that’s wonderful,” at which point I melted into a puddle.

Then, I drive to work, or I drive home, or I drive into town to go to the gym or get groceries, and I wonder how I’ll give all this up a second time. Being here feels like I’m wrapped up in warm, soft blanket. However, when I take step back and look at things apart from the emotion, the obvious choice seems to be Erica. I mean, after a few years, will the things I love about living here become bitter. Will seeing all these students graduate year after year and leave to find their own place in the world make me feel left out. Conventional wisdom says we can’t live in the past, yet I seem to be ordering my life to do just that. Furthermore, I’m doing so with regards to an era of my past that was always meant to be temporary. As I get older year after year, and university students in my old Tae Kwon Do club or new Jiu Jitsu school remain the same age, I suspect Athens might feel less and less like the appropriate place for me.

Do I choose the where I live now with all it’s comfort from my past or relocate to Erica’s city with all the exciting possibilities for the future? Will the pleasure of all my memories from where I live exhaust themselves? Would choosing the future elsewhere with Erica fail to satisfy expectations? All that said, leaving the past behind and moving towards the future seems like the natural, proper order of things, and I’m trying to cling onto something that can’t be held, at least not long term.

I suppose this will all work itself out one way or another. Erica and I have actually made plans to meet in person soon. I was thinking I’d fly over to visit her, then she suggested we rent an Airbnb Nashville, which is halfway for both of us. I reserved it Thursday night for the weekend of October 6th. I guess we will know then if whatever we have has real potential or doesn’t. At least now, I’m secure in myself and my life to be able to make peace with whatever happens.

Last updated September 17, 2018