There was a commercial run years ago about some schmuck stuck in a dead-end job. His boss, throughout the commercial, cries something like, “Get to Omaha“ Poor birthday boy, on the big day, gets a call in the middle of his cake “Happy Birthday, get to Omaha!“
I felt the same way. Heidelberg? I’m going where for the next three years? Heidelberg?? My company had transferred me. A single guy, they thought I’d have no objections. So I’m looking around at my stuff, my car, my life. Is there such a thing as an international moving company? I was assured there was. Don’t worry, they said, it’ll be an adventure.
Now adventure is all well and good, but my car is important to me. I can’t afford another. Who does international auto shipping, anyway? How does one connect with them and make sure that my baby gets from here to there, safely and well?
I finally connected with an international auto shipping company recommended by a friend who had been put through the same flame. And thus began the document chase from hell. Where is my passport? Where’s my pink slip; this international auto shipping company wanted proof that solid that I actually owned the thing. I was drowned in a V.A.T. of taxes, quoted to me in one long stream of accented English. Thank heaven they had it written down. I was a glazed donut half-way through explanations on customs procedures.
I have always bought American.
Several times, while sitting in a mechanic’s office hole listening to the litany of repairs that I was looking at, watching imports without injuries stream by outside, I wondered if my patriotism was being adequately rewarded. In this instance, however, I was the one watching smugly from the other side of the desk, avoiding a tax that import owners were screaming about, it paid. Maybe it didn’t pay off, but it finally paid. The advice from the international auto shipper’s office was golden here. That tax could have paid my electricity bill three times.
I filed my forms with the international auto shipping company, notarized, stamped, and signed in my blood. Then I took the extra key that I had created, checked for loose change in the back seat one more time, and said good bye for a couple of weeks or so. I had paid for insurance that would have bought two new fillings, and had sprung for a covered car transport.
(The international auto shipping company had the opportunity here to fill the air above us with horror stories about cars shipped just any old way, unguarded and unprotected. I felt like my firstborn was being sent out into a tornado, the way they talked.)
Now, I’m an American. I’m accustomed to slipshod service in some industries and I’ve lost my luggage twice on airlines. I’m no rookie. So you can imagine my shock and relief when my car appeared almost at my doorstep, only 3 minutes past due and as healthy as an ox.
Well, they weren’t delivering a pizza, so I guess I can let that go.Immobilienmakler Heidelberg Makler Heidelberg
Source by Nir Dotan