Last month, I was a bit frenzied as I prepared for an upcoming trip out of state during which I would be chaperoning 8 teenage girls. A couple of days before the trip, I ran an errand to Michaels, the craft store. I honestly can’t remember why I went there because, what, did I need a ream of scrapbook paper to add to my already over-stuffed luggage? Anyway, I did whatever I meant to do, and left the store. It was probably the 3rd place on a list of 10 that I needed to visit before picking up my daughter from swim practice in 20 minutes, so to say that I was in a hurry would be understating things.
I hit the button on my key fob and got in my car. I was about to stick the key in the ignition when I stopped.
I looked around suspiciously.
Why wasn’t there bulldog hair generously decorating my dashboard?
I looked at the doors.
What idiot stuck a bunch of bills in my driver door? (After having my car broken into twice, I never keep anything that identifies me in the car.)
Oh. My. God.
I was in someone else’s car.
I looked out the window. Directly across from me, a woman was sitting inside a truck, watching me curiously from her passenger seat.
Oh. My. God.
That woman was going to see me get out of this car, and report me to the real owner of the car.
But if I stayed in the car, the owner of the car was going to find me in the car. I was pretty sure that would be worse.
Oh. Crap. I needed to get out of that car.
I got out as calmly as possible, turned to the row behind me, and saw my car. I made a beeline for it.
I got in my real car with the bulldog hair on the dashboard and snotty tissues in the door pocket and left that parking lot as fast as I could.
I silently prayed that the woman in the truck would not see anything 911 worthy about someone getting into a car, looking wildly around, then hopping out of the car and running to a different car precisely 1 row away in the exact same spot.
So, that’s the story.
I recently told that story at a party, thinking that others would commiserate with me and share their own stories of mis-identified cars.
That didn’t happen.
“Wait, you got into someone else’s car?!!!” Yes.
“Was it the same kind of car as yours?!!!!” No. But it was the same color.
“Was it even an SUV?!!!!” You mean like my Rav4? No. I’m not even sure it had 4 doors. Or 4 tires.
But it was The. Same. Color. And, it was open. And I was worried about keeping 8 girls alive and out of the hospital for 5 days during a trip that promised to put my sanity to the test. Don’t those factors mean that I’m less stupid?
In Which I Write a Very Assertive Letter
I recently checked the status of my orders, and noticed that one of them is labelled as “Delivered” even though I have not received it. It is order number 123456782, and I would like to know how to rectify this situation. This item is meant to be a Christmas gift, and can only be purchased online. My daughter will be completely heartbroken if this present is not under the tree, and I will hold you personally responsible for the miserable day our entire family will experience while she cries her eyes out after realizing this gift is missing. I do not understand how you can label a package as having been delivered when it clearly was NOT delivered. What kind of shady organization are you running over there?
An Extremely Disappointed,
Mrs. Cap’n Firepants
In Which Amazon, Obviously Fearful of My Wrath, Responds
Hello, Mrs. Cap’n Firepants:
I’m sorry this package never arrived and you had to contact us. I completely understand your disappointment. That’s definitely not what we want our customers to experience.
At this point, we can only presume that the package was lost during shipping. I sincerely apologize for this.
We do our best to ensure that all orders leave our fulfillment centers as soon as possible to be delivered within the delivery date estimated when you place your order, but occasionally a shipment may be lost by circumstances beyond our control.
I’m forwarding your experience with USPS to our shipping department–I know they’ll want to hear about your experience. We’re aware that our choice of delivery services reflects on our business as a whole, and we appreciate your feedback.
I’ve checked your order and see the item was ordered from DIP ‘N DIVE , a seller on our website. Because DIP ‘N DIVE ‘s inventory is constantly changing, we can’t replace items sold by them that are Fulfilled by Amazon.
I’ve requested a refund of $9.02 to your Credit card.
You’ll see the refund on your Master Card statement in the next 2-3 business days.
As this was an inconvenience caused to you while shopping at Amazon.com, I’d suggest you to place the new order with One-day shipping and write back to us with the order number so that we’ll either waive of or refund the shipping charges on the new order.
Please make sure that you place an order with Amazon or any seller which is labeled as, “Fulfilled by Amazon”, so that we can modify or make any further changes to the order. If you place the order with any third party seller then we won’t be able to change the shipping charges on the order.
If we can be of further assistance, you can reply directly to this e-mail.
Thanks for your patience and understanding. We look forward to seeing you again soon.
Thank you for your inquiry.
In Which I Lose My Online Shopping Privileges
Thank you for your prompt and considerate response regarding my $9 purchase. Wow, you guys are quick.
So, I was wondering, hypothetically, how you would feel if I mentioned that, right before I received your apology and promise of a refund PLUS free, one-day shipping, I walked into my closet, and found the package to which I was referring sitting on one of my shelves? And, hypothetically, I wondered at that moment how the heck U.S.P.S. got into the corner of my closet without me having to even sign anything. And I then remembered that I was the one who put the package on my shelf because I wanted to hide it from my daughter, and I also remembered telling myself at the time not to forget that I had put the package on the shelf. “But it’s right there next to your box of bras, so of course you aren’t going to forget,” I chided myself. Because I do wear a bra every day. And it sat there for 6 days until I happened to notice that my Amazon account said it was delivered. And it obviously wasn’t. But it was. And I thought about saying that my husband must have picked up the package and stuck it on my side of the closet without telling me. But that didn’t make a lot of sense. Because he never goes in my side of the closet. And, somewhat more to the point, surely, after 6 days of retrieving bras from my bra box I would have noticed there was a package standing right next to it. That I had not put there. But I did not notice it. Even though I put it there. Which was a better hiding place, in my estimation, than the refrigerator, which really only works for small things that are not sensitive to cold. So, there you go. Hypothetically, of course. Just wondering what you would do in that situation.
Thanks for your patience and understanding. I look forward to seeing(?) you again soon, too. As long as you are not a stalker.
Your very loyal customer,
Mrs. Cap’n Firepants