"Your Package Is Arriving Today" and Other Works of Fiction

"Your Package Is Arriving Today" and Other Works of Fiction

I respect the confidence of a company that tells me my package is arriving today while also showing me that it's in Ohio. I'm in California, but apparently we're both supposed to stay positive.

The trouble starts with "Your order has shipped." This is exciting until you click through and discover that a label has been created. Nobody has moved anything. Someone has printed a sticker, and the marketing department felt we should celebrate.

By that standard, I've cleaned my house. I took the vacuum out.

Still, I check the tracking. I know refreshing the page won't make the truck go faster, but some part of me believes the eighteenth refresh will contain information unavailable to the first seventeen. At some point I become familiar with a distribution center in a town I've never visited. My order has been there long enough that it probably has a favorite restaurant.

Then comes "Out for delivery," which changes the entire day. Yesterday I had plans. Today I'm listening for a vehicle with the engine sound of a man who has something I paid for.

The delivery window is 8 a.m. to 9 p.m. Somehow I'm the only one who needs to clear my schedule. I can technically leave, but the moment I do, the package will arrive, require a signature, and begin its journey back to Ohio.

I always think I'll use the time productively. Then I hear a truck and go to the window. It's the garbage truck, which has managed to arrive on the same day every week without sending me a single inspirational email.

By late afternoon, I'm checking the front door even though I haven't heard anything. Maybe the driver is unusually quiet. Maybe the package has been sitting there for an hour while I've been inside monitoring its absence.

This is how a person ends up standing on the porch looking disappointed over a replacement shower curtain liner.

At 8:47 p.m., the update arrives: "Delivery attempted."

That's interesting, because I was here. I've been here so thoroughly that I can tell you when my neighbor left and what he was carrying.

According to the tracking, though, we missed each other. I'd like to know how close we came. Was the attempt a knock? A glance at the building? Did the driver think about me briefly at a red light?

I'm willing to accept that deliveries go wrong. People have exhausting jobs, addresses are confusing, and some apartment buildings appear to have been numbered by someone settling a grudge. What bothers me is being told I wasn't available after spending thirteen hours making availability my main accomplishment.

Customer service understands my frustration. They say so immediately, which is impressive considering I haven't finished explaining it. They're also happy to help. A few minutes later, I have the same tracking link I started with, but now it's been personally recommended.

By morning, the package is "Arriving today" again. No acknowledgment of yesterday's performance. Just another confident announcement, as if I'm new here.

Eventually, it arrives. There's a confirmation photo of the box next to a shrub, which I assume is for my records. I get an email asking how the delivery went before I've opened the box. I'm still deciding whether I'm angry, and they've already provided five stars for me to consider.

Inside is the shower curtain liner. It's the wrong size.

The return requires a printer. I don't own a printer. But I've downloaded the label, so as far as I'm concerned, it's been returned.