Piano Movers

The second most frightening thing I have ever seen in my entire life is three grown men with beer bellies and missing teeth putting my hundred-year-old Behning upright piano on its side and heaving it down a flight of steps.

I hired the less-reputable piano movers this time, because they quoted me a (nominally) cheaper price than the more-reputable, (nominally more) expensive company, and also because ever since I got word of the failing state of the piano, I haven't been quite so uptight about the upright.

Even so, seeing these men literally dripping their salty sweat onto the ivories while complaining of bad rotator cuffs, knees, and backs pretty much panicked me.

I watched them, wide-eyed and amazed at the terrible physical condition of the people I had hired to move a sacred 900 pound piece of wood. Who goes into the piano moving business with bad shoulders? Wouldn't it seem to be a strange career move? Perhaps a certain injury?

And as I listened to the three stooges yelling out warnings to each other, via cutesie nickname ("Hey, One-Leg! Catch that corner before it smashes into the siding!"), I began to think of all the questions I should have asked before hiring the less-reputable piano movers.

I should have asked:
1) Am I responsible for any injuries which occur while you are moving my piano?
2) If you bust my ex-girlfriend's brand new siding, will you pay up?
3) If you drop the piano, will you fix it?

As all these questions swam around in my head, I watched the three of them grunt and heave and shove my poor, sweet, heavy piano down Stacia's new front steps and into their truck. I wondered if I had made a wrong decision by hiring the underdogs. I was worried about my piano, but even more so, I was worried about the three seemingly fragile men, with their scraped up shins and bumbling banter.

"Whoops, we just ran over a garden! Those look like weeds anyway." (This wasn't my garden; it was a shade garden at my friend Dan's house, where my piano is being stored, and now his rental property is missing a few ferns.)

In any case, the piano made it in one piece, and so did all three of the men. However, the process took much longer than it should have. Besides the smashed ferns, the piano movers managed to bust a couple of pieces of plywood and nearly take off a door handle, but other than those minor infractions, all went well.

Dan stood next to me when we arrived at his house with the piano, and he watched, amazed, at the struggle and sweat that the three men exuded. "Thank God I'm not doing that," he said. (Previously, he had volunteered himself and his roommates to move the piano. I thanked him for the generous offer but had declined and insisted on hiring professionals.)

And after all was said and done, piano safely in place in its new temporary home, one of the men sat down and began to play.

...And he was fantastic!

He immediately commenced with an eight-octave jazz improvisation, rocking the entire house into a daze. I instantly forgave the hassle (the 2-hour late arrival, the inevitable jokes about such a big piano for such a small girl, the tramped-down ferns) and listened to the best piano playing I have heard in quite a while.

Dan and I were a buzz of questions for the pianist. He shrugged and said nonchalantly, "Oh, I don't perform much anymore. I used to accompany Bette Midler, though, you know of her?"

......

And so, you must wonder, what was the first most frightening experience of my life if it wasn't this?

Easy. That was watching the same piano give another set of movers quite a struggle. But those piano movers? They were my dad, my brother, and a few friends.

I don't care who you've accompanied, especially if you are my family. But I will hire someone who has the right equipment, even if they have bad knees, over my friends and family any day. No way would I want to lose my brother to my Behning New York Upright.