Oh. My. God.
No really. Holy shit. (omg!) Remember oh so long ago, on a fated August day when I moved into the house between the cracklot and Happy Chinese Deli? When my former roommate and I regrettably indulged in movers? And they took, like, sixteen thousand hours to move my entire, full-size, enormous studio full of "furniture"? And broke our front stair doing it? And one of the movers went totally apeshit when I said I wasn't paying him $1000, because hiring monkeys on meth would have been smarter?
Remember how we filed a claim and offered to settle for a third of the bill? And they laughed? Then we found out how much it would cost to fix the step, and sent them a letter saying, oh, actually, you owe us money? And we never heard from them again? And we figured, oh well, free move, and fixed the frontstep ourselves for $30?
Fifteen months after that move, six months since the last time I heard a peep out of them, I got a letter in the mail. I sighed, thinking, jesus, are we really going to continue this? And I opened it up...
AND IT'S A CHECK FOR EIGHTY-FIVE DOLLARS. Word.