delivery window

On Monday, West Elm called me to schedule the ‘in home delivery’ of our sleeper sofa. They said the delivery would be between 4pm-6pm on Wednesday. This obviously was perfect because my boyfriend gets off work early enough that he wouldn’t really need to leave early. Me accepting said delivery was obviously out of the question.

Yesterday my cell starts ringing at around 1pm and it’s a blocked number, no less. I decided against my better judgement to answer it. On the other end was said West Elm delivery guy, Cruz. I have yet to confirm if that was indeed his real name. However, he said he was “running early” and asked if I was at the apartment.

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Oh silly Cruz, of COURSE I’m not at my apartment. I’m freaking at work. It’s 1pm on a Wednesday, sir. He proceeded to tell me that someone needed to be home in 45 minutes to receive said couch. I told him he promptly needed to slow his roll and that I needed to first confirm with the only other person that could get the couch that he could just sashay out of work in the middle of the damn day.

I wanted to slap someone. What the shit was the point of the delivery window? Also, how the hell did you get three hours ahead of schedule? Did you sell half your deliveries in Harlem or something?

Immediately I texted my boyfriend something to the effect of “Please call this mofo, I can’t…here is his number. Says his name is Cruz. Likely story.” I got a text back, at like 1:37, mind you that said “Called him. I’ll just leave work now.” I responded with something really sweet like “i really hate you.”

The moral of the story here is that delivery companies are a lot like doctors offices, they make you have an appointment and then screw with you for their entertainment. 

Also, today is your lucky day! I had a lot of fun with Carly answering questions for an amazing post about yours truly over on her blog. Go check it out because I’m so awesome AND because she’s pretty cool too. The girl used to wear an eye patch. How bad ass is that?