Misdelivered

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s topic is to write about “a significant arrival.” 

Today’s story comes to us from Val Muller, author of the kidlit Corgi Capers mystery series.

 

Misdelivered

by Val Muller

 

He heard the squeaking brakes before he saw the headlights. That stupid delivery truck again—and he hadn’t ordered a thing. This would make the fourth time this month the delivery people got it wrong. Christmas was coming, and Kevin knew things would only get worse.

Kevin checked his watch. 5:00. Would anyone answer the phone? The other deliveries were always earlier. He got up from his recliner. Was it too much to ask to be allowed to stay in his warm bubble and flannel blanket on a cold winter night and enjoy his G-damned retirement? If it wasn’t the delivery trucks making mistakes, it was the neighborhood kids with the shouting and the screaming, or the school buses clogging up traffic and making the roads unpassable at certain times of day.

Kevin pulled his robe tighter around him to brave the winter cold. The rubber soles of his plush slippers gripped the front porch. Kevin shivered in the cold.

This was a big box. What the heck was in it, a garden shed? Yes, same company as last time. Those stupid drivers. He looked at the address on the label. It wasn’t anyone on his street. It wasn’t even his city. Where did they find these drivers? He pulled the phone out of his robe’s pocket. He didn’t even have to look up the number. Already had it on his phone from last time.

It was 5:00 on the dot, and that’s when those lazy bastards closed. Would they answer?  

A hurried voice answered. Shirley, same woman as last time.

“Hello, Mr. Silvan,” she said as soon as he spoke. Was his voice that recognizable? Sure, this was his fifth call this month, but certainly they received dozens of calls each day.

“Listen, your drivers left another one of these packages out here, and this time it’s not even for someone in my town. No way am I driving it to—” He glanced at the label. “Springfield, wherever that is. You need to send your driver back to get it. They just left a minute ago. Can you radio them or something?”

Shirley typed something on the other end of the line. “No can do, Mr. Silvan. All our drivers are overbooked. It’s our busy season, you know. Just keep the box. You can donate it or keep it or trash it or whatever.”

“Listen, ma’am.” He tried to keep calm, like his therapist told him, but it was hard to do with so much incompetence in the world. “Someone is waiting for this box. It’s too big to fit in my sedan, and I’m not driving to Springfield. You want me to keep the box. What’s gonna happen to the person waiting for their delivery?”

“When it doesn’t arrive, they’ll file a claim, and our insurance will reimburse the company, and they’ll order another one, and it’ll get shipped.”

Yeah, just like he had to do with his prescription that was delivered to who-knows-where. Several hours of his retirement were wasted fixing that little mistake. Was that really easier than recalling a driver?

“It could be after the holidays by the time that happens. What if this is a gift for someone?” Kevin hated the holidays, but fair is fair. Someone else was going to spend hours on the phone because of this.

“I’m sorry, sir, we just don’t have the manpower to send someone back out, resort the package, and re-deliver it.”

Kevin hung up. Rubbish. He might as well burn the package in the morning. No, who was he kidding? He would leave it out for the trash on Tuesday. He went inside and sat in his recliner. Now his peace was disturbed. The news was over, he was cold, and something stupid was on TV. His schedule was thrown off. He went upstairs to shower.

But he couldn’t enjoy his shower. The box was in his head. He wouldn’t bring it in the house, he decided, but he would open it to at least see what it was. Outside in the cold, he sliced open the box.

“Son of a…”

All this fuss for a twelve-foot-tall inflatable Christmas elf riding a dragon across a rainbow. This wasn’t Christmas, this was—well, Kevin didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t worth his time, that was for sure. In the morning, he would push the box to the curb and slap a “free” sign on it. Let someone else put this atrocity in their yard, let the person who ordered it suffer for their decision to create demand for such a thing.

He left the thing on the porch and went up to bed, but he couldn’t fall asleep. Maybe there was more traffic than usual. Maybe it was the disruption to his routine. But he couldn’t help it. He needed to set the dang thing up to see how ridiculous it was.

It was surprisingly easy, the stakes going right into the ground and the thing self-inflating with the flick of a switch. He watched it inflate and was greeted by several honking horns of approval.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself. “I’ll leave the thing up for the night. Let these morons have their bread and circuses. I’ll tear it down in the morning.”

In the morning, Kevin dressed for his morning walk and was greeted by several dog-walkers letting their dogs socialize just beyond his yard while they took turns taking pictures and selfies with the Atrocity. When they saw him emerge, they called him over, insisting he pose next to what they called the most fantastic Christmas décor the neighborhood had known since the great skeleton Santa of 2020. He managed to hurry away for his morning walk, wondering why no one seemed to have anything else to do but gawk anymore.

He took an extra loop today to try to work out the angst caused by the events of the last twelve hours, and when he returned, there seemed to be even more people. More gawking. More selfies. A car pulled off to the side, and a woman stepped out to get a selfie.

“This is amazing!” she said. “It just puts you in the holiday spirit, doesn’t it?”

Kevin raised an eyebrow. “It’s a dragon. With candy cane wings. Being ridden by an elf. And it’s on a rainbow. What does this have to do with Christmas?”

The woman laughed. “You’re almost as grumpy as this customer I’ve been dealing with—” As she spoke, her face paled. She glanced at his house and must have made note of the street number. “Mr. Silvan?” she asked.

Now he recognized her voice. It was Shirley from the incompetent shipping company. A brief and hideous idea flashed in his brain—asking her to grab a coffee with him. But she had hurried to her car, embarrassed, and was driving away before he could decide whether his idea had any merit.

He went inside and followed a blissfully boring routine, ending the day in his robe and slippers while watching the news. Every time headlights flooded his window, he peeked out just a bit. He hoped maybe, just maybe, the shipping company would make another mistake or two before the year was up.

 

The Spot Writers—our members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/