That's right, it's that time of year when stuff ordered from Amazon starts making its way to the front door as it migrates toward Santa's workshop upstairs in my house. Today three boxes arrive.
I am so excited. Except two of the three boxes are for my son. The last box only has a tracking number on it because the rest of the label obviously got stuck to something and has been torn off.
Uh oh. Is this more of my son's order, or is this part of my Amazon order?
I ask my son, "Is there anything in that box for me?" He thinks for a few seconds. Nope. I tell him that if it were my Amazon order, there'd be nothing in it for him. We agree to open the unmarked box and see whose stuff it is.
It's just like Christmas! It's going to be a surprise to one of us!
Thankfully we can see the tracking number, so we call the local UPS store. They can tell the package has been delivered (to my front door, which I already knew), but no other information is available. No address, no name, no contact info. The UPS store does give me a more global number.
Well, apparently it's SUPER global, because the person who answers barely speaks English and sounds like she is in a completely different time zone, one that might include Pakistan. The woman on the other end takes MY information, but she will not give me ANY other information other than the promise to call me within an hour. Her advice? Tape it up and leave it on my front doorstep for the driver to pick up.
I'm really not happy about this. Someone NEEDS those brakes. I assure the woman in Sri Lanka (or wherever she may be - she really, really does sound like she is thousands of miles away, possibly during typhoon season) that I will NOT be putting the package outside until I have conformation that she has phoned the recipient and has been told by that recipient to have me do so. She says that someone will call me.
Luckily the person who calls back is from a local UPS distribution center, and she is able to tell me the address (house in front of mine), and the recipients (quiet neighbors who live downstairs from my landlord). My son is able to deliver the re-taped package less than thirty minutes after we discover the mistake.
This is all very lovely, except for one important fact that is being overlooked: Not a single one of those packages was for me! Dang it.
