The Packers

One feature of the infamous inventory is the process, not only of listing everything you own, but also of categorizing it as to whether or not it will stay in Canada while you are gone and where it will stay (long term storage versus personal storage) or whether it will go with you on your posting and how it will get there (accompanied baggage, air shipment, or sea shipment). The moving company then provides coloured stickers so that its clients can label everything in the house to make things easier for the packers.

Months prior to going on a posting, the Department of Foreign Affairs – also known as Foreign Affairs Canada, or FAC (yes, fodder for a lot of good / bad jokes – depending on for whom you work) – offers a series of courses and seminars that help one prepare for their move overseas. One of these sessions is on the logistics of packing and physically moving yourself and your family overseas. This year’s course was facilitated by a Foreign Service veteran who had many overseas moves under his belt. The stories were incredible. Stories of people’s cars falling off ships or sprouting strange fungal growth while in the container, stories of people forgetting where they had placed ten gas barbeques intended for shipment, and yes, stories of bags of garbage being packed up and sent off to Saudi Arabia by sea. How could this happen, we thought. How could such a mistake possibly be made? Well, I was about to find out. As a friend of mine insightfully pointed out later, “these guys are packers, not sorters”.

As it turns out, surprisingly enough to all who know me, I was not fully ready for the packers when they arrived at my apartment four days before I was to leave the country. I was mostly ready. Many of my prized possessions were labeled. Others were sorted in neat piles according to their eventual destination. However, I was not fully ready and I spent most of the day one step ahead of the two packers. If there is one thing that I can say, it is that these guys are fast. Very very fast. In addition, they do not exercise any judgment over your possessions (at least not while you are there) and they do not question any of your choices as to where objects are going. Essentially, their day consists of taking several sheets of wrapping paper, grabbing whatever object is in sight, wrapping it up and putting it in a box. If there is anything on the table whose destination should clearly be questioned, they are not the ones who are going to do it. And if you turn your back once, go out to the store to buy some cans of Coke, or let your concentration slip for even just a moment, it is highly probably that your garbage or that pile of elastic bands, bread ties, and ATM receipts will end up on their way to Saudi Arabia (or Brazil, in this case). I count myself lucky that I was alert enough to pull one small bag of garbage out of one of the boxes. I can’t remember if it was a box destined for long-term storage or for shipment. Either way, it would have been pretty disgusting. There was no perishable garbage in the bag, but now I understand why things take so long to get through Brazilian customs. They wonder what the heck is up with all the Canadians who keep shipping their refuse to Brazil!

The two fellows who packed up my house were good blokes. However, everyone underestimated the weight of my belongings and in the end, once everything was packed and at the warehouse, the company realized that half of it would have to go by sea. Since we no longer knew what was in any of the boxes, I suggested a lottery for deciding what went where. So whenever it gets here, it will be just like Christmas. Surprises in a box!