Absurdly Laughable
(A Wine Musing)
My aunt, an avid horse rider and owner, booked a horse riding trip to Columbia, South America for her birthday. Intending the perfect birthday gift, I placed an online order for three items of horse riding apparel.
Having placed the order on January 2, I was certain there was plenty of time for me to receive the order and wrap the gifts before a planned visit with my aunt on January 14. I was wrong.
On January 11, the package delivery service’s website informed me my package had arrived in my city of residence and was handed off to the United States Postal Service for “last mile” delivery to my home. Furthermore, according to the website, the United States Postal Service had attempted to deliver the package to my home at 7:45 PM and, being unsuccessful, had left instructions for me.
I was home at 7:45 PM on January 11. No one had attempted to deliver anything to my home. Furthermore, the postal carrier had not visited my mailbox that entire day. I knew this to be true because I had left a misdelivered letter in my mailbox with the mailbox flag raised. The misdelivered mail was still in the box on January 12 (mailbox flag still raised!), and there was no new mail in my mailbox.
Oh no! Had the USPS notice been delivered to the wrong home? Was someone else picking up my package? I immediately called the package delivery service. Nothing they can do. Package handed off to the USPS. Call USPS - here’s the 26-digit tracking number. Hope I wrote that down correctly! Automated answering service at the USPS – “You can track your package on www.usps.com. If you would like to hold for a representative, your expected wait time is 1 hour and 15 minutes to 1 hour and 30 minutes.” I end the call. USPS website insists it attempted delivery.
I knew this meant I had to pay a dreaded visit to the USPS mail sorting facility serving my address. I had been there before. This was not going to be pleasant.
Here’s the deal. There is a customer service counter, but no one stands behind it. There is a bell to ring for service, but feel certain, that bell is ringing Godot. Yes, you can hear people in the back talking and moving around, but you are not important. The last time I was there, I rang the bell 3 to 4 times over a span of 15 minutes. Exasperated and spotting a mail carrier outside loading her truck, I went up and asked for advice on obtaining assistance with retrieving my package. She said, “Don’t tell them I told you to do this, but keep your finger firmly on the bell for however long it takes for someone to come to the counter.” A full one to two minutes of buzzing did the trick. An angry and surly clerk came out to greet me. He chastised me for sitting on the bell, and I responded that it obviously was an effective technique that I would remember for next time.
On the morning of January 12, armed with the 26-digit USPS tracking number and mentally prepared to have to resort to obnoxious “bell sitting,” I headed to the USPS mail sorting facility. Wow – only a 5 to 10 minute wait time, no need to resort to bell sitting and a nice female clerk who actually tried to help me. But my package wasn’t there. According to the clerk, the message declaring an attempt to deliver the package was probably auto-generated, and my package was likely on a mail truck for delivery to me today. Perhaps things were looking up.
Between 4 and 4:30 PM, USPS delivers my package. Yay! I immediately open it to wrap the gifts. What?? Two items labelled “corner horse feeders” are in the box, and there is no riding apparel. Oh, but the packing list neatly itemizes the three items I ordered, and there is a sticker on the outside of the box proudly stating “Carefully packed by Jackson, Stacie.”
I call the online retailer.
“Hello Customer Service, there has been a terrible snafu with my order. You need to overnight my items today.”
“That’s impossible. Our warehouse does not ship anything past 2 PM.”
“Please transfer me to a supervisor.”
“Hello Ms. Supervisor, there has been a terrible snafu with my order. You need to overnight my items today.”
“That’s impossible. Our warehouse does not ship anything past 2 PM.”
“What do you mean, ‘that’s impossible’?? Someone needs to walk over to the warehouse, put my items in a box and take it to one of the two express delivery services. They accept packages every day until 7 PM.”
“Our warehouse is in another state. No one can walk over there.”
“Then call a supervisor at the warehouse and have him or her handle this.”
“I can’t do that. There is no one to call. I only have an e-mail address as contact, and they usually do not respond for a day or two.”
“What?? Is this not your warehouse?? Do you not have any control over their activities?”
“No, it’s not our warehouse. We contract with them.”
“OK. Can we overnight the items directly to my aunt?”
“Yes.”
“Tomorrow?”
“No, not until Monday.”
“But wait, isn’t Monday a holiday.”
(Sheepishly), “Yes, I guess it is.”
“So, the best you can do is overnight the items on Tuesday for delivery on Wednesday?”
“Yes.”
“I need to text my aunt to find out when she leaves for Columbia.”
“Ok, while you’re waiting to hear from her, how would you like to return the corner horse feeders? I can send you a shipping label or have the package delivery service pick up the items.”
“Please send someone to pick them up.”
Text from my aunt – “I’m leaving on Wednesday.”
Hopeful the items will arrive on Wednesday morning prior to my aunt’s flight, I print photos of the horse riding apparel and stuff the printouts, along with a birthday card, into an envelope.
At a celebratory dinner on January 14 with my aunt, I give her the envelope and recount the gift debacle. She is very grateful, both for the gifts and my efforts. Coincidentally, she had previously attempted to purchase one of the apparel items, but it was unavailable in her size.
Part way through dinner, my aunt says, “You should have kept the horse feeders. Mine are worn out, and I need new ones.”
Enjoy the humor woven uniquely into the fabric of this life. You can’t make this stuff up.
“The mind, placed before any kind of difficulty, can find an ideal outlet in the absurd. Accommodation to the absurd readmits adults to the mysterious realm inhabited by children.”
― André Breton
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