The Slowest Movement

Jenny uncrossed her legs one last time; she was growing impatient. The talking head in the television droned on about some meaningless cold front travelling north towards the countyline. Her front door sat open ready to welcome those who would visit the home one last time -- the movers. For three hours Jenny sat in various stages of readiness and movement as she waited for some rumbling gutteral engine sound, the kind you move aside in traffic to let it pass or speed up suddenly in order to pass it. People drifted by her open door and snuck what they thought would be an unchecked peek into someone else's life, but instead they met Jenny's glare. Propped up like Rodin's The Thinker, Jenny dialed the moving company's number for the fifth time. "Crystal Movers, may we help you?" "Yeah, this is Jenny Faver again. Do you know how much longer it will be?" "Ma'am, like I told you 30 minutes ago, we would call you when the guys are on their way." "I don't think you understand. I have to be out of here today for me to make it to Seattle in time for Monday. And my stuff has to follow me." "Ma'am, I understand, as I did three hours ago when you first told me. I'll try to call them on the road. Please hold." The silence on the line morphed into Juice Newton's "Angel of the Morning." Da-da-de-da-da-dah-da. Jenny smiled for the first time that day. "Ma'am, they're telling me they may not make it tonight. It may be the morning and if that's the case, you'll be the first one tomorrow." Jenny cussed. "You all have exceeded my every expectation. You're absolutely the worst company I've ever dealt with. I work with a property company which owns a number of apartment complexes here -- You just lost my business and their's." The click of her hanging up the phone was almost as gratifying as the hold music.