I miss waiting for deliveries. I mean aged like fine wine type waiting. The only times that I really looked forward to receiving a package were on my birthday and every other year when my aunt would send me a fruit-of-the-month basket.
Now I have boxes lining my front porch like they’re part of the décor.
I’m starting to think that actually going to the store is too difficult for the average consumer. My random orders of Moroccan sea salt along with everything else being shipped directly to my doorstep before my morning Starbucks has got to be more than circumstance.
Next level global production. Which is incredible. But it also amuses me because so much of this operates on human error.
When I orderedmy mind had not anticipated any theatrics involving a package of kitchen towels. But when I saw the notification pop up on the delivery app the driver GPS lead them completely astray and hovered around my neighborhood like a teenage dinosaur. When the towels were finally delivered the look of defeat on the driver’s face was enough that I wanted to invite him inside for tea and grief counseling.
“The GPS kept telling me there was a left on roads that weren’t even there.” He told me while handing me an item that appeared to be 200 years old. My house has been in the same location for 37 years, yet google maps still doesn’t believe me when I say it isn’t going anywhere. My favorite ongoing joke within this never ending episode of human error tv show is easily the “we attempted delivery” notification.
You know the one I’m talking about, the one where your inside working from home, anxiously waiting for the knock at your front door and you suddenly hear your phone notify you that, “delivery was attempted but there was no one available to accept delivery.”
This occurred to me recently during one of many thunder storms we’ve been having where they even canceled school. I received this notification of “delivery attempt” I was sitting in my living room with all blinds drawn, my view consisting of watching rain water become an indoor fountain in my backyard. If that delivery guy needed a break I would’ve told him you better have scuba gear if you plan on delivering something underwater.
Battling customer services is an art that requires more concentration than a saint flexing will power while also having the detective mind of Sherlock Holmes. “Can you confirm that you were home at 2: 17 PM sharp,” The customer service lady questioned as if I keep track of my whereabouts every minute of every day. “I was home all day long thank you very much I was watching the flood occur outside my living room window.” “We have a record stating that the driver did stop by.”
“The record is wrong Karen.
We both know that.”
And the conversation went down hill from there. Then there are the oddly magical case of the missing box -packages that are deemed “delivered” when in reality they don’t exist. This triggers what’s probably every households routine when expecting a package.
The panic struck frenzy of ‘looking inside your home.’ First you search near the front door. Than you search near the backdoor. After that, it’s the side door -which let’s face it, no one uses.
Then you check the front door again to see if it magically appeared since you last peeked at it three seconds ago. Then you search your neighbors porch, some trees, underneath your car, and in a fit of rage you’ll search the roof because why not? It’s just as likely that the delivery person has taken up competitive frisbee and decided to throw your incoming packages onto your roof shingles.
Last Summer I found my gardening items hiding in my recycle bin. Not near it. Not on top of it.
But thrown casually INTO it – complete with a weeks worth of garbage piled on top. Who does this? And why?
The delivery slip said “left in safe location” so you could say I gave my new pruning shears a nice safe location by throwing it where it didn’t belong. The logic is superb, if you don’t question it. Whoever created the space to write delivery instructions on the box has now sparked my writer enthusiasm.
Simple box instructions no longer apply to my packages when I order something online. I’ve learned that this small section is where you can be as creative as you want. “Please deliver to THE FRONT door (the one facing the street.
NOT the back door facing your backyard, The wind blows heavily towards that door and the dog that lives next door barks at every passer by) also PLEASE DO NOT DELIVER ITS ON THE PORCH! !”
Yup. About 60% of the time do drivers even read these notes.
My packages are then politely placed on my door’s side railing, behind the gas meter, or very exceptionally -in my grill. Speaking of that I probably would’ve burned my new sweater if my order ended up getting delivered while the grill was on. Speaking of sizes.
The ratio between what you order and what you receive in a box is terrifying. I ordered a battery replacement for my watch. It’s smaller than an average stuffed animal.
Yet came in a box that could’ve fit a mens size 12 shoe. Trash bags aside, they wrapped my little battery with enough bubble wrap to protect the eggs from Jason during a tsunami. Point is I spent more time taking that box apart than I did putting the watch battery actually in my watch.
And on the complete opposite side, some of the most fragile items come in the rudest packaging. Like my wine glasses I ordered came packaged with what felt like cotton balls. Guess what?
They didn’t break. So much so I believe my delivery driver from that day handled that package like it was nuclear waste. Sorry we missed you became an art of passive aggressiveness.
The note itself is simple. Straight to the point. Yet so misleading.
The criminals will write the darnedest thing yet lie through their teeth by saying, “We attempted to deliver your package there was no one home, we will try again tomorrow between the hours of 8 and 11.”
Giving someone who doesn’t need to use the restroom, eat lunch, or sleep a whopping 15 hours to stand at their door. I actually called one day and asked if I could please make that timeframe a half day because I didn’t want to be hostage at my door all day long. With the patience of someone who has clearly read that script eight hundred times that day she said, “We are not able to specify a time.”
“You don’t understand I will be sitting at my door for 8 hours taking Sunday off?” That was my reasonable argument.
“Well,” she continued, “You’re always welcome to pick it from the store.”
“Oh and where might that be?” “About a 30 minute drive outside of town, open from 10-2, Monday through Friday.” By this time it would’ve been quicker for me to drive to where the product was made in Taiwan and just pick it up myself. I will say I think some drivers taking their routes serious around my property have been pretty entertaining. Some take Rocketery steps towards my door as if they’re about to step on a wet diaper.
Others take monster truck wheels rolling up to my front porch. But these guys right here cut my fence open like it’s their back yard and chuck packages at my doorstep from no less than 5 feet away. I’ve watched drivers run-michael Phelps style across ponds.
Dive over rain-ice like it’s sniffing around for bombs, and hat flips weaker than mine when throwing small packages at my porch. In my opinion, asking for a signature has become the absolute peak of ridiculous delivery scenarios. Technically this is supposed to be securing your valuable items from theft or loss, but I’m sure we can both agree it’s turned into humans playing a game of catch with the mailman.
Pre Covid we used to have to sign on a digital pad which is now basically encrypted hieroglyph for all we know. Covid rolled around and suddenly it’s become a whole dramatic show- drivers standing 6 feet away, me being extra and acknowledging them from my window and them proceeding to take pictures of your door as proof you “somewhat” received your package. Now we’re in a post Covid world where we’ve entered into an endless black hole: “Signature required” means the mailman can leave it on your doorstep where no one can steal it, but if that cute little box doesn’t say “Signature required” we can’t deliver it unless you happen to bring a kidney.
The other day I’m standing at my door (actually facing the door is consider being polite nowadays) and some delivery guy rings my doorbell holding my package and says, “Can I have your signature?”
Don’t lie. You were expecting it to be the right package when you opened the door half naked with a pen in your hand. Spoiler alert, it wasn’t.
“This is the wrong package!” Said the delivery man while sprinting back through my yard. “I should not have to sign this if I’m not the intended receiver of this item.” I decided to ask. He rubbed his thumb and pointer finger together and responded, “The computer says I need a signature.”
Customer service training 101 right there children.
So I signed it. He took my box. And we both nodded in silence knowing that was ridiculous.
Here’s another kicker about tracking systems. My kid could draw up better sketched out lines than the packages I track. Literally we have tracking systems that can pinpoint exactly where your.Package is and how far it’s traveled to get there.
Which don’t get me wrong is incredibly satisfying but it also becomes sketchy as hell to how creative people can understand directions, “Package departed from Memphis facility.” “Package has arrived at Memphis facility.” “Package left Memphis facility.” “Package arrived at Memphis facility.”
Are you kidding me with this guys I thought my tennis shoes were stuck in purgatory at some facility in Tennessee above an assembly line prison pumping out shoes until the end of time where they’d be forever lost floating around like in the darn lottery. Alright so my packages finally start showing up. Yet another issue occurs with the actual packaging.
Boxes nowadays are covered with copious amounts of tape as if the item inside is the president’s secret document. Box cutter, nails, and pride have been sacrificed on the alter of me vigorously tearing open a box like I’m in Food, Inc. Don’t get me wrong I hate shopping online half the time get stolen off my porch (yes porch people do this too) I’ll take Barrons any day.
It’s hard to resist the urge of shopping in your pajamas. Nothing beats putting on dirty workout clothes to shop. Literally takes zero effort to shop from pants.
Could this be an extreme level of humans accepting bad behavior for convenience?
Or is it just me that’s too lazy to drive to a store? Moral of the story is I’ll never stop having a bad experience with deliveries and I hope like a leap year weekend that one day my package comes to the correct address.
Excuse me while I go check my bushes. Supposedly my new coffee pot was delivered 2 hours ago. And it definitely is NOT hiding in my porch..
nor does it have the ability to turn invisible.
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