Going postal 2012
Jul. 13th, 2012 07:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stephbg[Dedicated in part to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hipikat - is this sufficiently over 140 characters for your liking?]
--
I ordered something very important on June 20 and it has not yet arrived. Today marks 17 business days elapsed since processing confirmation, which normally you'd expect to fall within the 4-6 business days suggested by the site as an appropriate delivery window. Maybe not, my maths is not really on fire today.
This important thing? A bulk order--but not too bulk because they have an expiration date--of the enzymes that allow me to consume food, keep it inside for a while, and depart gracefully. There's more, but descriptions would be unneccesarily graphic. And disgusting. And painful. And would involve actual yelling, and crying, and the need to apply ointments, and developing a cat-like awareness of and need for plumbing fixtures at every moment of every day.
Unfortunately supply for this stuff at local health shops tends to be unpredictable and relatively expensive, so I turned to my friend The Internet. Not only did I discover a reliable source of supply, but at better rates (even including postage) and the blissful freedom from having to discuss my intimate health issues with strange people in health food shops as a condition for my release. The system has been working well for quite some time now.
Until this time. Last week I made contact with the supplier to be told I should have the stuff by now, so I asked at the local post office if they had any parcels there waiting for me. Thery did not. Today was the deadline for Action: if I was not supplied by post today, I would have to (a) hunt down a local supply, and (b) begin the tedious process of declaring a parcel Lost.
Life thought to tease me not once, but twice today. The courier came! It was a test print of "Asteroid Belt" from deviantArt. Nice, but no cigar. Later the postie came and delivered something, but even before I left the house I knew it was not a package. I am intimately acquanted with the sounds of my letterbox's sundry orifices.
In a strange twist I had not actually expected, the postie had left a card stating that I had a parcel to collect from the post office. Small packet, ordinary mail. The kind of thing that regularly gets delivered into my letterbox whether I'm home or not. The kind of package that would surround and protect my precious missing shipment of life-giving goodies. I did have another couple of incoming deliveries that would also fit that description, but since this normally home-deliverable thing was languishing alone at the post office, I thought it might be my missing link, arrived there via unconventional means. I was prepared to forgive it its wanderings.
I dashed to the shops. No, actually, I slowly and painfully showered and dressed, had a rest, then tackled my hair and shoes. I figured if anyone got close enough to smell my breathe it wouldn't be because I liked them, so they would simply have to deal with the consequences. I then rested some more. Took some painkillers. Induged in industrial quantities of caffeine. Rested some more. Then I drove carefully and stiffly to the shops.
There was no parcel for me at the post office. They looked again, and again, and again (terribly nice folk there), and eventually found a parcel for me in a place it Should Not Have Been. And this parcel? It was a small flat box of rocks that should have gone straight into my letterbox. Mishandled, mis-delivered, and then mis-stored. Mis-labelled too, for good measure. Although addressed correctly, someone had hand-written B. GRAHAM in large friendly deceptive letters on the side.
Meanwhile I was all out of spoons in a big way. I tried the local health shop in the vain hope that they would have some of my precious enzymes in stock at whatever price they chose to gouge out of my frail defenceless flesh. They had one bottle. Hallelujah. I paid some amount that my credit card chose not to share with me, and made my way home. I wonder who drove?
So I now may eat again for another 10 days or so, but I have to start thinking about making claims, which probably can't start officially until 20 working days have passed, so that's late next week. I figure that if they were going to arrive--even travelling by truck-- they would have made it by now. Of course even if they make it I then run the risk of some or all of my current stash (emergency-bought and web-deferred) passing expiration. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. Then set it on fire. Then salt the earth on both sides. Then throw some harsh language at it. It's a plan.
On the bright side - new rocks, and one of them looks particularly promising. Mexico is proving to be an excellent source of rocas bonitas.
hipikat - is this sufficiently over 140 characters for your liking?]--
I ordered something very important on June 20 and it has not yet arrived. Today marks 17 business days elapsed since processing confirmation, which normally you'd expect to fall within the 4-6 business days suggested by the site as an appropriate delivery window. Maybe not, my maths is not really on fire today.
This important thing? A bulk order--but not too bulk because they have an expiration date--of the enzymes that allow me to consume food, keep it inside for a while, and depart gracefully. There's more, but descriptions would be unneccesarily graphic. And disgusting. And painful. And would involve actual yelling, and crying, and the need to apply ointments, and developing a cat-like awareness of and need for plumbing fixtures at every moment of every day.
Unfortunately supply for this stuff at local health shops tends to be unpredictable and relatively expensive, so I turned to my friend The Internet. Not only did I discover a reliable source of supply, but at better rates (even including postage) and the blissful freedom from having to discuss my intimate health issues with strange people in health food shops as a condition for my release. The system has been working well for quite some time now.
Until this time. Last week I made contact with the supplier to be told I should have the stuff by now, so I asked at the local post office if they had any parcels there waiting for me. Thery did not. Today was the deadline for Action: if I was not supplied by post today, I would have to (a) hunt down a local supply, and (b) begin the tedious process of declaring a parcel Lost.
Life thought to tease me not once, but twice today. The courier came! It was a test print of "Asteroid Belt" from deviantArt. Nice, but no cigar. Later the postie came and delivered something, but even before I left the house I knew it was not a package. I am intimately acquanted with the sounds of my letterbox's sundry orifices.
In a strange twist I had not actually expected, the postie had left a card stating that I had a parcel to collect from the post office. Small packet, ordinary mail. The kind of thing that regularly gets delivered into my letterbox whether I'm home or not. The kind of package that would surround and protect my precious missing shipment of life-giving goodies. I did have another couple of incoming deliveries that would also fit that description, but since this normally home-deliverable thing was languishing alone at the post office, I thought it might be my missing link, arrived there via unconventional means. I was prepared to forgive it its wanderings.
I dashed to the shops. No, actually, I slowly and painfully showered and dressed, had a rest, then tackled my hair and shoes. I figured if anyone got close enough to smell my breathe it wouldn't be because I liked them, so they would simply have to deal with the consequences. I then rested some more. Took some painkillers. Induged in industrial quantities of caffeine. Rested some more. Then I drove carefully and stiffly to the shops.
There was no parcel for me at the post office. They looked again, and again, and again (terribly nice folk there), and eventually found a parcel for me in a place it Should Not Have Been. And this parcel? It was a small flat box of rocks that should have gone straight into my letterbox. Mishandled, mis-delivered, and then mis-stored. Mis-labelled too, for good measure. Although addressed correctly, someone had hand-written B. GRAHAM in large friendly deceptive letters on the side.
Meanwhile I was all out of spoons in a big way. I tried the local health shop in the vain hope that they would have some of my precious enzymes in stock at whatever price they chose to gouge out of my frail defenceless flesh. They had one bottle. Hallelujah. I paid some amount that my credit card chose not to share with me, and made my way home. I wonder who drove?
So I now may eat again for another 10 days or so, but I have to start thinking about making claims, which probably can't start officially until 20 working days have passed, so that's late next week. I figure that if they were going to arrive--even travelling by truck-- they would have made it by now. Of course even if they make it I then run the risk of some or all of my current stash (emergency-bought and web-deferred) passing expiration. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. Then set it on fire. Then salt the earth on both sides. Then throw some harsh language at it. It's a plan.
On the bright side - new rocks, and one of them looks particularly promising. Mexico is proving to be an excellent source of rocas bonitas.
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Date: 2012-07-13 11:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-13 12:56 pm (UTC)