Amazon Anxiety: The TellTale Package

My senses were heightened, very sharpened as I continued with the seemingly innocuous repair. At first this had seemed like an innocent enough repair. After all, what had the patch of drywall done to me in the past. At first the repair went quickly, and then came the corner! This was no ordinary corner. This corner was made at some time in the past to vex me. Listen as I tell the story.

Necessity drives us mostly, and I recognized the need. It was a simple tool needed to do a simple work. It seemed to me I had every tool that was needed. Assumptions are not always the best though, and all too often lead us astray.. There was this oddball corner, which needed a very specific type of drywall knife. Did I have the tool? No. This tool was not in my toolbox. Hammers, screwdrivers, wrenches, pliers, all populated my tool box. Was there a corner drywall knife? No. There was a large drywall knife, and a small flat putty knife, but no corner knife. My frustration grew as I tried to finish the repair. The spackle dried and cracked before I could finish one side, and then the other, and then dried again too quickly to smooth the other side. My hands trembled as I tried to finish the repair. In frustration I threw down the drywall knife. The work needed to be finished in time for the weekend party, and yet how was I to finish the repair without the proper tool. My desire to acquire this tool welled up from inside, and seemed to overpower my senses. I paused and considered where to acquire a corner drywall knife, and would it be here in time.

Where to buy? That was the question. Should I buy local? My last experience at the local hardware store had only yielded an inferior tool which broke with the first use. My toolbox is sacred, deserving of only the best tools. So many online shopping stores from which to choose? Which one would supply my needs the fastest? Which one would deliver the best quality product? Would site to store be here in time? No, it had to be next day early morning delivery to finish the repair in time. My nervousness and frustration grew with each website reaching a frenzied pitch as my fingers flew across the keyboard, yet I remained calm inside. Deftly I clicked the tab for Amazon with nervous anticipation.

A single bead of sweat formed on my forehead and dripped onto my nose before falling to the table next to my keyboard. Is the tool available for next day delivery? YES! Yes. My fingers flew across the keyboard as if they had a mind of their own. The cart blossomed into view. The checkout screen flashed, and my fingers expertly typed in my credit card number never missing a digit. Expiration date and CVV entered onto the screen. I firmly pressed enter. The system flashed again! My order was complete!

I didn’t bother to clean up the mess from the repair I had begun. Oh no, I made dinner for one and then returned to reading my favorite book. I went to bed; the cool sheets felt good on my back. I tossed and turned slightly in anticipation of the delivery tomorrow, but finally fell asleep. Fitful dreams woke me up at times through the night. I sat up in bed fearful I had not completed the Amazon order. Quickly I fumbled for my cell phone next to me. It revealed that I had completed the order. Reassure, I lay down and fell back asleep.

I was roused from sleep early. Who was knocking on my door at this hour of the morning? My bathrobe hung loosely from my shoulders as I peered through the door’s sidelight. Standing there were four individuals, two men and two women, both wearing the neighborhood watch patch. What on earth did they want at this hour of the morning? I composed myself and swiftly opened the door, and greeted them politely. Before I had even invited them into my sanctuary. they began asking was I aware of the prowler in the neighborhood, and could they come in to chat for a bit? Reluctantly, so as not to arouse suspicion, I let them in and seated them in the living room while excusing myself so that I could dress for the day. My attire for that morning was a simple pullover and jeans with house slippers. I returned to the living room room and inquired if they desired coffee or tea.

The men from neighborhood watch asked for tea, and the women asked for coffee, which to me seemed strange, but it allowed me to retire to the kitchen once more to escape their chatter. This was an inconvenience as I had not yet brewed a pot of coffee, and only had instant coffee to offer, and only plain tea, no Earl Grey or DarJeeling. Checking the refrigerator revealed no cream for the beverages, but only plain sugar for both.Returning to the living room with coffee and tea, I served them. Then the questions. Was I aware of a prowler in the neighborhood? Had I seen anyone unusual walking down the street? I thought to myself no more so than usual, only the usual candidates from the neighborhood watch. The lady in the pink hoodie, the arms of which were covered in sequins, seemed to be asking the most questions. ‘Is she the leader?’, I thought. Her arms flailed in the air as she spoke, the sequins flashing in the early morning light. This gave me a headache and made me squint my eyes.

It was then my cell phone chimed. Nervously, I retrieved it from my pocket and looked intentionally at the screen so as to draw their attention to my business. The notice said Amazon delivery, five stops away. Would these people never be gone? Of course they asked more questions, and I answered more feverishly. No, I had not seen anyone walking down the street or on the sidewalks or floating in the air or landing by helicopter. This solicited strange expressions on their faces, and a quizzical expression from one of the men. I rubbed my hands together nervously, massaged my temples to assuage the headache, and then wiped them on my pants. Laughing, I stood up and chuckled at my own wit. Who would think there would be a helicopter landing on our street I said?

My cell phone chimed again. Another alert from Amazon. My delivery was only four stops away. My heartbeat faster. I slipped my cell phone onto the table face up. The other woman in the party commented on how nice my curtains looked. Frankly I did not care what the curtains looked like at that time as they were coming down anyway. I replied why thank you so much. They are certainly vintage, aren't they? Yet what did it matter about the curtains, and why would she care? Were her curtains old and tattered? Or were they better than mine? How dare she ask me about them then? Was this meant to belittle my choice of decor? What would she say next? I wiped my hands on my pants again in nervous anticipation. When will they leave? I had answered their questions. And yet, there they sat, smiling and casually sipping their coffee and tea, not caring for business.

One of the men asked for cookies or biscuits. Did I have any? My heart beat faster in my chest. What is this nonsense of asking for cookies or biscuits, I thought. This is not a diner or a delicatessen, this is my home, my refuge, my private escape. But I answered politely, why yes I do have some fresh baked oatmeal raisin cookies. Why did I offer my oatmeal raisin cookies I had baked for the weekend party? Why not shortbreads or sugar cookies? Did they really deserve them? Then once again I wearily retired to the kitchen to bring a plate for oatmeal raisin cookies back to the living room.

The alert sounded louder on my phone. The delivery was only three stops away. I could hear the sound of my blood pounding in my ears, louder and louder and louder. There was more idle chatter about how many people they need for the neighborhood watch. Would I be interested in volunteering for the neighborhood watch? My only thought was why won’t they ever leave? My chest heaved as I breathed faster and faster.

Question after question continued. This time the questions turned to me. Why are you sweating so? Why are you ringing your hands? Why is your face so flushed? Is something wrong? What were you doing last night? Where were you? Are you the guilty one? These questions came one after the other after the other.

The phone chimed again, the delivery was here, and the alert and vibration were so loud now that my cell phone vibrated itself off the table and fell onto the floor, making every jump.

In a moment of silence, the doorbell rang. I jumped to my feet, fell to the floor and then jumped to my feet again. “No!! No!!” I shrieked, “I am not the one. I am not the prowler. My special Amazon delivery is here! Dissemble no more neighborhood watch.” I flung open the door, picked up the package and held it up to them. “See it is the package with my special tool to do the repair on my drywall. I am not the prowler, only a simple repair man.”

Silently they stood one by one and looked at me in disgust. They passed by me one by one without so much as a thank you or goodbye, and left coffee, tea, and cookies in disarray on the table.