three cheers for Sven and Olaf.

Today I moved into my new apartment. Being all alone in a big city and having no family to beg for help, I hired movers that I found on craigslist. Olga, the woman who answered the email, told me I'd get "two young, strong men" and a truck for two hours for the bargain price of $120. How can you argue with that?

At 9:55 I waited for my movers to show. At 10:15, I called Olga. "Zey are late," she told me. "Zey had ze probelem wiz de trahk. Zey are in Manhattan. Zey vill be dere soon." They showed up at 10:45, which was annoying but not a problem. I used the extra time to finish packing the stuff that I was afraid I'd have to leave behind anyway.

So in came two tall middle-aged Russian men, who I have dubbed Sven and Olaf. Sven was tall and thin, Olaf was short and built. Without speaking a word, Sven handed me a pen and through gestures and grunts instructed me approve the start time of 10:50. Olaf was already going up and down the stairs with the boxes I'd left in the hall.

As my Russian Workhorses trampled up and down the stairs, I kept pushing other boxes into the hall. Without ever speaking, box after box after box disappeared. Then the bookshelf, then the dresser, then the desk. In less than an hour, they'd emptied my belongings into the back of a beat-up old yellow truck, which was sitting on the street unguarded while a she-cop scribbled a ticket for meter violation. Sven and Olaf then said "You vant ride?"

I answered "Is there room?" Their truck appeared to be a 2-seater, but they both insisted--again through gestures and broken english--that we could all fit. Sven jumped in the drivers seat, and Olaf jumped in the passenger's seat before sliding into the middle, a very mickey-moused third cushion. So I hopped into the passenger's seat and folded my hands in my lap.

"Please," Olaf said, gesturing to the seat belt. I buckled up and said thank you. Sven checked the address again, and I confirmed it. We were there in 3 minutes. I unlocked the new doors and watched as Sven and Olaf unloaded my belongings even faster than they'd loaded them. (I credit the easier staircase.)

They were done by 12:35...less than two hours. I paid and tipped Sven (Olaf was now down guarding the empty truck), and he asked "You vant help wis de bed?"

I considered it, but had no more money to give him for a tip, plus I hadn't decided yet where I'd put the bed. So I said "It's okay, I've got it."

"Yes?" asked Sven.

"Yes," I said.

So he put down his papers and pen, and started assembling my bed frame. I just shrugged and helped him. Then I thanked him several times before he nodded in a stern Russian way and went downstairs to join Olaf.

All in all, I gotta say, these Russian stallions were the best money I have spent in a long time. They may not have been the "young" men that I was expecting, but they were strong, fast, and got my boxspring back out the bedroom window withOUT the use of rope, which really impressed me. Here, here. Three cheers for Sven and Olaf.