what can brown do for me, hmmm?

One of the biggest pains in the ass of living in New York City is--if you don't have a doorman, which I don't--trying to receive a freaking package in the mail. My mailbox is about 4 inches wide, so most packages don't exactly fit into it.

If it's a postal package, it is held at the Post Office, but not the one that is 3 blocks away. Oh no no. It's held at the one 15 blocks away, where I must go to fetch it, which requires standing in a long line of disgruntled citizens (and I use that term loosely) who maybe, just maybe, speak any derivative of English or Spanish required to communicate with the postal staff. Most communication is done through translators or hand gestures, and even those are done through a couple inches of plexi-glass.

But worse, when a package is sent UPS or FedEx, chances are pretty much nill that I'll ever get it. Over the holidays, despite my numerous attempst to locate, retrieve, or redirect an incoming present, it got returned to the sender after 10 days.

So now I generally have packages sent to my office, because at least someone will be here to get it, even if it's not me. And really, screw the company policy against receiving personal packages. Clearly whoever wrote that either has a doorman or a nice little estate in the burbs where the house servants can receive it or, like it used to be for me back in Boston, it can simply be left on your porch without risk of being stolen.

Last week I ordered a new bathing suit online. I figured, I hate trying that shit on in the store anyway, let's just take a gamble and see what happens. I chose the express shipping method for 3-5 business days, all in the hopes that the suit would arrive before I leave Friday for an out-of-town wedding weekend, during which time I intend to take a dip in my hotel pool or spa.

I ordered the suit on Thursday. I had it shipped to my apartment, fearing that someone at work might accidentally open it and laugh at the heavily padded bust. I got an email Saturday saying "we've shipped your package! here's your tracking number!" I panicked, thinking 5 business days from Monday may not be sufficient. And then I saw a link to UPS.com, which totally pissed me off. This meant that no matter how small the package was, it sure wasn't getting into my mailbox. It meant that when I got home, there would be a frustrating little yellow sticker saying "Nah nah, we have your package but you weren't here to get it! We'll try again at the same time tomorrow, when you will also not be here!"

On Monday I checked the status, and to my surprise, it said the package was on a truck for delivery. So fast! This largely increased my chances of actually obtaining it, if only I could get the new sticker off my door and use it to re-direct the package to work. Later in the day, sure enough, the online tracking said the first delivery attempt failed. All I had to do was go home and get the sticker...

...that was NOT stuck to my door. No sticker. No new package number. No redirect. "Brown" bastards.

On Tuesday, I checked the status online again, and furiously searched for the option to redirect, which I KNOW is somewhere, because I used it before. But it looks like I needed the "Oops we missed you" sticker to redirect. So, I was Shit Outta Luck. Hopefully the second delivery attempt would leave a sticker for me to work with. Because if not, then there was no way I would have time to redirect the package to work before I leave on Thursday. UGH!

So as I walked home on Tuesday, down the hill from the subway, slowly sauntering to minimize any overheating in this disgusting, atrocious weather, I prayed the sticker would be there. As I got down the hill and turned the corner, I looked up to reveal none other than...

...the ACTUAL brown UPS truck! Parked outside my building!

I picked up my pace and excitedly jogged over to the truck, peeking in the front cab for the driver, then to the back to see where he was hiding. Seeing him nowhere, I peered at my front door to see if there was a sticker, but there was STILL no fucking sticker! I turned back to the truck and saw the driver hop in the front seat, and I leaned in the door from the other side and said "HEY! You have something for me!"

The thickly french accented black man said "Wass yoor address?" I told him. "Ya, apartment five, I juss deliver there."

"NO, apartment FOUR," I pleaded with him.

"You have steecker?"

"No, I never got one, but I tracked the package online and it said first delivery attempt failed, so you must..."

"Lemme look." He disappeared into the back of the truck, yelling indiscernible things to me out on the street. I shouted tips, like how small it was, where it was from, and my name. Finally, he trumpeted his success, returning to the front with the package.

"Ooooh YAY!!" I sang and danced. I signed my name and shrugged off his apologies, instead embracing the fantastic luck that a UPS truck, the one with MY package, was parked outside MY building at 6:30pm for the same 30 seconds that I was walking by. The package was in my hands, despite all odds.

But a quick note to self - always send packages to work. Always.