Ramirez Brothers Moving review: Horrible experience 1

Recently I used Ramirez Brothers Moving in Cathedral City to help me move my older brother, Eddie, from an assisted living community where he lived while recovering from a debilitating head injury. He's regained a great deal of mobility, so there is no longer any need for the cost of a full-time nursing staff. I needed to move him and his furniture across town to a private home where he would be living with a few other people in similar situations.
I don't know many people in his area, so I needed to find a competent, reliable company to coordinate the move. After consulting a few websites, and asking around the people in my brother's community, I had decided to contact Ramirez Brothers, as well as a few others, to see if they could meet my specific needs. My phone contact with the three companies was poor at best, but Ramirez Brothers were able to meet my needs.
First, the home he was moving to was in a sprawling neighborhood with several cul-de-sacs and dead ends. As I needed to reach the home before the movers to ensure that none of the residents had parked any vehicles in the path of the large (24 foot)truck I would need, I needed the movers to be able to map the correct route beforehand as I would not be able to wait for the movers once underway. I also told them my brother's situation and that he can get in the way sometimes, but just to let me know so I can corral him.
Carlos told me that they would be able to take care of that. He said his brothers would be moving us, and he knows the city like "the back of his hand" as well as being very sensitive to people with special needs.
They told me they would show up at 9 am to start the move, and we agreed on a reasonable price.
Carlos' brothers, Octavio and Darryl, didn't show up until 11:30 (or as Octavio said, "eleben thirty") and they were in a gutted cargo van nowhere near big enough for the three rooms of furniture my brother had. It was way too late to contact any other company, as my brother had to be out that day, and being the last day of the month, I figured most movers would be booked solid .
The guys apologized for being late, and insisted they had tried and true methods that would speed up the process, and get us out of the community in 2 hours.
This method consisted of Darryl strapping the larger items to his brother, who would man-handle them down the stirs to the truck, eschewing the elevator. While employing this technique, Octavio put several holes in the drywall of the stairwell, as well as breaking my aunt's antique dilletage set.
They get the first load in the van after about thirty minutes, I don't know about the damage yet, and things are looking up (or so it seems). I tell the driver, Darryl, I am going to go ahead with my brother and make sure the truck has a clear path to the new place. While I am talking to him, Octavio was chatting very pleasantly with my brother. Eddie comes walking up and tells me that "Mr. Octo" says he can ride in the van with them.
Irritated, but my attitude generally improving about the workers, I agree when Darryl gives me a two-way radio so I can stay in communication on the road. We drive out of the community and on to the thirty-minute drive to my brother's new home.
The van these guys are driving is a relic from the seventies, and belches diesel smoke as they try to keep up with me at forty miles an hour. I radio to them that I am pulling ahead and have them reassure me they have the correct address.
I arrive at the new place after twenty or twenty-five minutes and the driveway and street in front of the home are all-clear. I begin taking the small load of things I had packed in my Metro inside the home, making sure there were no obstructions that would impeded the movers' progress.
After thirty minutes I begin to panic slightly. After forty minutes I try the radio; no luck. After an hour, I try the radio; no luck. After an hour and a half, the radio suddenly crackles to life and I hear my brother's reedy, childlike voice, obviously in tears, say, "Now this is a story all about how my life got twisted upside down and I'd like to take a minute just sit right there I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel-Air. In west Philadelphia born and raised on the playground is hwere I spent most of my days.Chilling out, maxing and relaxing all cool and all shooting some b-ball outside of the school.When a couple of guys, they were up to no good, started making trouble in our neighborhood.
I got in one little fight and my mom got scared she said your moving in with your auntie and uncle in Bel-Air. I whistled for a cab and when it came near the license plate said fresh and had dice in the mirror. If anything I could say that this cab was rare but I thought nah, forget it, yo home to bel-air!
I pulled up to a house about seven or eight I yelled to the cabbie yo home, smell you later. Looked at my kingdom I was finally there to sit on my throne as the prince of bel-air. This is how you waste time Tex.