The Welcome Wagon

Moving into a house seems to require a lot of grumpiness and frustration... and not just my own. My moving in (or its effects) seems to have put a lot of people in a bad mood. Yesterday I had to call American Home Furnishing three times because those folks can't seem to get me the right ottoman, and they don't seem to care. When my little brother picked up the furniture a couple of weeks ago, they first tried to give him the wrong couch all together. Then, they sent the wrong colored ottoman. So I took it back, and the store told me they wouldn't have another one in stock until April 9-- very frustrating considering I paid cash for this stuff back in January. But then they called and said one had come in early, and that they'd deliver it Tuesday. So yesterday morning, I was just about to leave for work when the little delivery guys showed up with EXACTLY THE SAME OTTOMAN. And the lady in the "customer service" department, Sylvia, was so rude! Anyway, I'm picking up what I hope is the right ottoman tonight. Again-- what a waste of my time!
And speaking of waste, I also had to put a call into Waste Management. I had to prepay for three months of service, which wasn't a big deal, but they've never brought me a bin. So I called and spoke to someone yesterday who said, "Oh, you're paying for the pickup service, not the free bin. So just put your trash out on the curb, and we'll pick it up until we can get you a trash can." How nice, considering yesterday was my trash day. And I probably couldn't have just left the trash out anyway, because there are tons of dogs in the neighborhood-- apparently some of the neighbors just let them have free reign (one ran into my house once, and I had a heck of a time getting him out) and the dogs probably would have eaten the trash, or scattered it everywhere.
And I know that would have made the neighbors mad, because they are already mad at me. This morning I got to my parents' house for work and there was a message on the answering machine. It said, "Hi. This is one of the neighbors from the house you are building. That truck you have out front of your house with trash in it? I'd like you to move it, because there's trash blowing all over the neighborhood. I'd appreciate you taking care of this problem now." He was really mean. I've asked my dad to help me dump this trash, but he's been busy. I think he'll help me today, but it's still discouraging. Welcome to the neighborhood, I guess. I certainly don't want to cause trouble, and, not to sound like a brat, but you'd think that the folks in the 'hood would be happy to have my house around-- drives up the property value for everyone. At the same time, I'm pretty ticked off that the dude didn't even have the courage to leave his name. Jerk. Anyway, I'll take care of the trash because it's the right thing to do, and I was working on it anyway. But if that guy ever calls me back, I'll refer him to the magnet on my grandmother's refrigerator, which reads, "I can only please one person per day. Today is not your day. Tomorrow doesn't look good either." I guess it's natural to get combative and defensive, but I don't like that. The good news is, the guy wasn't able to call my house because the phone company hasn't sent a technician out yet to fix their problem-- that I can call out, but can't receive calls. I guess some of these minor frustrations are a blessing.