UPS Says, "Hold My Beer..."

One day after my two-day attack on FedEx for not delivering our packages properly... there has been another catastrophic event. UPS will not be outdone!

 

At 12:53 on Thursday, I received an email that my package had been delivered, left on the back porch. That was curious. I was sitting at HIPPIE at the front living room window. There had been no vehicle in the driveway. The dogs were lolling in the sunshine in the front yard. There had been no barking. I went to the back porch. I looked all around the deck. On top of Juno's dog house. Around the corner towards Gassy G Jr and the steps to the garage.

 

"Pony! Come out here. I just got an email that a package was delivered, but I didn't see or hear anything. Go look at the back of the garage."

 

The Pony returned from his mission. "I looked by the garage doors, and on my car, and in the Gator, and in the little mailbox Dad put there for packages, and on the front porch, too. There is no package."

 

Here we go again. I was rassen-frassen FedEx, mid-curse, when a further check of the email revealed that it came from UPS. Sitting back at the window, looking up UPS on HIPPIE, I saw a car go down the gravel road. Hey! That car doesn't belong out here, but it looked familiar... MORE ON THIS LATER.

 

Well. UPS recommends that the package recipient foist the filing for a lost or damaged package on the SELLER. So it was unlikely that I'd get any satisfaction by that route. Of course there was no phone number to call, to ask WHICH back porch had received my package, so they could sent to driver back to get it and do his job right.

 

My best hope was to assign the case to Hick. He could put it on our association's Facebook page, asking our denizens to check their back porches. Unfortunately, he was a county away, picking up three free garage doors.

What in the NOT-HEAVEN, people! Why can nobody deliver a package to our home of 22 years?

It's not like we live down a winding pig trail in a dense forest, where I might shove the deliverer into the oven. Our house is not perched atop a Machu Picchu peak on the other side of a Grand Canyon gap. It's down a driveway through an open field, easily seen from the gravel road. 

 

WE HAVE A SIGN WITH A HANGING ADDRESS on a metal post, three feet off the road, for cryin' out loud! Our main gravel road has a sign with the street name at the turn.

 

Hick says the GPS takes you right to our driveway. What are these drivers using for navigational purposes, a potato? A variety of drivers have seen fit to deliver our packages to houses miles away, on different roads. Sheesh! Osama bin Laden could have chilled out here in POOLIO with no fear of discovery, we're such a black hole of an address!

These delivery drivers have ONE JOB! To drive a package from Point A to Point B, and leave it. A job where creativity is not encouraged. You don't get to choose a Point C-thruz-Z for the final destination of my package.

 

On the way home from my town errands, I passed Hick going the other way. I called him and put him on the tracking detail for my missing package. By 4:43, Hick had solved the case!

"Your package is next door. Copper Jack's Human Daddy found it when he got off work at 4:30. I'm going to pick it up."

I'm pretty sure I know how my package went right past my address sign and was put on the neighbor's back porch. More on that Sunday, after Saturday's Future Pennyillionaire Report.