I didn’t have major plans of selling belongings before moving, but having made a trip to storage a week after putting everything in, I worried about the electronic piano and decided it needs to be put to use, not sitting in storage. It’s not a climate-controlled unit, so taking central Texas climates and applying it to such a structure, it’s an oven.
Yesterday I arranged to meet at the storage facility with a prospective buyer. I get them through the gate and they follow me through the property to my storage unit. Out pops the original caller, his wife, a son — “wow, you brought the whole—” a daughter, and a dog that I mistake for a long-haired chihuahua but am told is a teacup something-or-other. I take a better look at its face and notice the lack of tail and think, “welp!” and say, “—definitely the whole family!”
The whole arrival is cute and I’m already glad that these are the people who would be taking the piano. Wife is super friendly, watches me climb from a chair to a table as I pull a sheet off of the piano, and helps me hoist it down from atop a desk that is standing on said table. She’s super excited to hear where I’m moving and why, has a little advice but mostly is just bubbling over with congratulations and excitement.
Dad pulls out a generator and we get the piano hooked up and playing. Son is not quite six and has a natural knack for music and limb independence, and the whole family is excited to learn and play — the plan is that they’re all enrolling in lessons, even though they feel their son will go furthest, musically.
I’m beyond thrilled about who the piano is going to, and dad negotiates to knock $20 off, which I’m more than cool with. We close the deal, pack the piano into the SUV, kids hop in, I start walking to my car but notice my keys are heavier than normal — almost forgot to shut the garage door and lock the unit up but have an idiot-proof lock that stays stuck to my keys until I relock it — mom laughs and cracks a sympathetic “if my head weren’t attached…” joke out the window, and we’re off.
For the first 5 miles, we’re on the same path, and at the highway we split off into opposite directions.
About 6 miles later, my phone rings. It’s the mom.
“Marisa. We just realized we left [dog’s name] tied to the fence at the storage place!! We’re turning around now!”