So, Finley Packers, right? What a ride that was.
I first heard about ’em when I was planning my big move last spring. Everyone’s talking about making moving easier, and Finley Packers, their ads were everywhere, promising a seamless, stress-free experience. You know, “We pack, we move, you relax!” Sounds great, doesn’t it?
So, I decided to give them a shot. My old place was just crammed with stuff, years of accumulated junk, and the thought of packing it all myself was giving me headaches. I called them up, and the person on the phone, super smooth, assured me they had this amazing system. “Everything cataloged, professionally handled, top-notch materials,” they said. I signed up, feeling pretty good about it.
Then the actual packing day arrived. And boy, oh boy. It wasn’t quite the well-oiled machine I was expecting. Different guys kept showing up, seemingly from different crews. One team started on the kitchen, then another group appeared and took over the living room, but they didn’t seem to talk to each other much. I tried to ask questions, but mostly got vague answers or “Oh, the other team is handling that.” It felt disorganized right from the get-go.
Here’s the kicker I found out later, after a favorite vase went missing and I spent weeks trying to track it down.
Turns out, “Finley Packers” isn’t really one single company, not in the way you’d think. It’s more like a brand name, and they just contract out the actual jobs to a whole bunch of smaller, local moving outfits. Some are probably decent, sure. But others? Not so much. It’s a total mixed bag, a real gamble on who you’re gonna get.
- You’ve got one crew using their own beat-up boxes, stuff I wouldn’t trust my old socks in.
- Another might be using Finley-branded tape, but slapping it on flimsy containers that look like they’ll buckle any second.
- And communication? Forget about it. It’s like a game of telephone, but everyone’s speaking a different language, and the message gets totally garbled.
So, when something goes wrong, like my vase, good luck figuring out who’s actually responsible. Finley customer service just kept pointing fingers at the “local partner,” and the local partner, if you could even get a hold of the right one, would say Finley gave them the wrong instructions or didn’t pass along key details. It was a complete runaround, a bureaucratic nightmare just to find a simple answer.
It’s a bit like those giant food delivery apps, you know? You order from “Super Burger Place,” but it’s actually coming from three different ghost kitchens, and the quality is all over the place depending on who’s actually cooking that day. Finley Packers felt just like that. They’ve got this shiny front, this impressive website, but underneath, it’s just a patchwork of independent operators, and there’s no real central control or consistent quality. It’s all smoke and mirrors.
My buddy, Sarah, used them a few months before me. She’d actually recommended them, said they were “okay.” But now I get it. She probably just got lucky and landed one of the better subcontractors. Me? I drew the short straw, it seems. It makes you wonder how many people just get a decent experience by chance, while others, like me, end up pulling their hair out. So much for “relaxing.” I think I spent more time chasing them down and dealing with the fallout than if I’d just packed myself, slowly, with a beer in hand. Lesson learned, the hard way.
