Taking Delivery

Dearest Rachel –

This never happens to me.

In some other context, that would be the punchline to a bad (and NSFW) joke, I’m sure. Either way, it would seem that the joke is on me.

It’s bad enough that I woke up sometime between 3:30 and 4:00, unable to go back to sleep until I finished writing a letter to you (which I guess in retrospect, I should apologize for any incoherence in it, and I’m sure there’s plenty). I managed to pile myself into bed sometime after 5:00, only to be awakened less than two hours later by a noise that sounded like my alarm clock, but wasn’t. It took me a couple of rings before I realized it was my cell phone, which was positioned right next to my alarm clock. So, same function.

I knew that the folks from Abt would be coming by some time today with all of the appliances for both the kitchen and the laundry room. I’d even received a couple of emails from the Detail team about it on Friday, along with a warning that everything could be kept in the garage except the dishwasher; why that one of all the appliances is too sensitive to leave out in the cold, I’ve no idea, nor had Lisa. So the phone call didn’t come as any great surprise, aside from the earliness of the hour. But that was nothing compared to the message that they would be by in no more than an hour or two – some time between eight and nine.

It would happen on a day when I got half the amount of sleep I normally do, that I’d have to get up, shower, and get dressed to greet these fellows.

I have a theory as to why, and believe it or not, it has nothing to do with the Brontosaurus.

My theory *koff, koff* is that, having heard the discussion between my Dad, Lisa and myself about the décor of the kitchen (in particular) being decidedly ‘masculine’ in appearance, the salesman concluded that there would be no one like you (which is to say, a wife) to receive delivery, as I would probably need to be on my way to my workplace as early as possible. A reasonable assumption, and not entirely wrong. Sure, if I had to be at a place of business, you aren’t going to be there when they show up (and whether Daniel would be awake is debatable – although he wakes up earlier than he used to, possibly because he doesn’t have someone to stay up with – and even if he was awake when they got here, he might find himself at sea with regard to directing the delivery team as to where to put everything). And I suppose it would be supremely presumptuous of them to think I was either retired, or could stay home from ‘work’ to deal with them. So it stands to reason that I would be among the first on their delivery schedule for the day.

Of course, that theory only holds up if they were to show up on the earlier side of their eight-to-nine range. Once it passed nine, it started to seem like yet another joke was being played on me.

But I shouldn’t have worried too much. Barely fifteen minutes after the hour, my cell phone rang, and sure enough, the truck was out there, trying to figure out how to back into the driveway.

They didn’t do a half-bad job; at least, they didn’t hit anything backing up.
It’s actually kind of cool watching them load everything onto that little platform, and seeing it go up and down like an elevator with all that stuff.

They even hauled in the dishwasher, per my instructions, despite one of them claiming that it would do just fine in the cold, just as long as I brought it in to warm up for an hour or two before hooking it all up. I’m thinking he didn’t realize that these things are going to sit around in the garage for another three or four months. That may very well be what makes the difference.

In any event, now we have a table to set pizzas on when we order delivery next time, rather than bothering to open up a card table in the middle of the family room. All we need to do is to turn the television to face the dining area, and we’ll be good to go.

The whole operation took no more than 15 minutes, including the time taken to sign off on the delivery, and they were on their way to their next appointment.

Meanwhile, I’m left with a garage that looks like this. It’s fine; it’s not like I was going to try and back your car into it, especially with the snow thrower in the front already.

I remember days in my childhood when we would get a major appliance (as rare an occasion as that might be), Jenn and I and the neighbor kids could take a box of crayons to it, and turn it into a clubhouse. Imagine what it would be like come late April, when everything gets installed, and all these boxes – plus the ones the cabinets are likely to come in – are emptied out. Why, you could build an entire condominium complex for a neighborhood full of kids to play in.

Of course, it’ll never happen. For one, there aren’t that many kids around here that I know of – and for Daniel and I to try to attract kids to play with these boxes would be downright creepy. Plus, who plays with boxes and crayons anymore? The only way we could get kids to play in and around all these boxes is if we could convince the makers of Pokémon Go to turn that pile of boxes into a Pokécenter (and while I know the game has seen better days, I’ve actually met a couple of people recently who still play the game, so maybe the fad hasn’t completely died out yet).

Anyway, after that fairly quick visit, I remembered I hadn’t eaten yet. Actually, that’s not quite true – I was perfectly aware that I hadn’t eaten, but I wanted to go someplace in particular, and while they serve breakfast, they don’t open until 10:30. Or at least they don’t open up until 10:30 on Saturday mornings – I’m not entirely sure how things work on weekdays, but I didn’t want to press things.

Anyway, I was in the mood for chorizo con huevos, and nobody really does it any better than Señor Tacos. And it’s been a long time since I’ve been there; probably since Kevin was in town late last September. The fellow behind the counter (who we know so well, but I’ve never caught his name) took my order, and as he began to prepare my meal, asked me, all friendly-like, “So, how is your wife?”

Okay, it really has been a while.

I found myself having to explain what happened to you, and how long ago it was. He was apologetic and sympathetic, especially when he realized that you hadn’t fallen victim to Covid – yes, other things still happen in spite of every and any precaution we might take, including freak accidents. I did also fill him in on how things were going with Kevin, as he had been a particularly loyal customer back when he still lived here. He and I both shared a little amusement in that Tennessee is dealing with more snow than we are at the moment – at least, in certain places (if I understood Kevin correctly as of last night, his workplace in Murfreesboro is just fine, but both Nashville and Franklin are a little bit… challenging to drive through). He finished up his preparations, handed me my order, and with a few pleasantries, I thanked him, paid him, and left.

The stuff is as good as it ever was. I just wish you were there to enjoy it, as always. And now I have to wait a little while before taking a nap to make up for lost sleep earlier today – it won’t do to sleep on a full stomach (or even on my back, after eating so well).

Anyway, that’s my morning; how was yours?

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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