Today must be “If at first you don’t succeed…” day, which explains why some company called Young Life keeps sending an unwanted box of essential oils to my house. Two weeks ago, I figured it was an easily remedied mistake. I would call Fed Ex and explain “No one by that name lives here — in fact, no one by that name has lived here for 20 years. And no, I’m not calling the company. For all I know that company may want me to pay for something I didn’t order.” Two Fed Exers came; one who picked up the package and a second, grizzled fuck who wanted me to sign a receipt box for the package after the package had been picked up the day before. I refused to sign the receipt, and the unshaven bastard didn’t seem to understand my explanation that I wasn’t in possession of the box — and there was no way in Hell I was going to sign for something that I hadn’t ordered and that had been picked up by his company on the previous day. He muttered something unfriendly under his breath when he descended the stairs. Irked by his behavior, I called Fed Ex and let them know I didn’t expect any more visits from asshole pick up drivers who wanted me to sign for a box I didn’t have and didn’t want. Customer service apologized and assured me the box, which had been picked up, was on its way to Utah.
Today another Fed Ex man arrived, knocking loudly. He had already placed the box behind the screen door when I said, “Are you sure you have the right address?” Sure enough, it was the dreaded Utah box.
“Listen, man.” I brought my fist in my palm for emphasis. “I called your company about this same box. I’m telling you whoever ordered that stuff doesn’t live here.”
“We’ll take care of it.” The delivery man assured me, descending the stairs.
Goddess, I hope that box doesn’t show up again. I’d hate to waste a “begone forever” spell on a box of essential oils.
Once inside my house, I looked at my attempt at journal-making that hung on the wall. I didn’t intend to make a hanging journal. Shit! I got my stitches crossed up, which resulted in a elongated, knotted loop. Undaunted by the idea that I hadn’t made a cover for the journal, I used a piece of mixed media paper that had served as a paint palette for mixing colors. The work is a sight indeed but if at first you don’t succeed…
In conclusion, don’t get the idea that my determination to rid myself of the box was a selfless act. Thinking purely of me, I had planned to order Sennelier watercolors via the Internet in the upcoming week, and I dreaded to think my Senneliers, in some twist of irony, might end up in hands aside from my own. If you are familiar with Sennelier oils or soft pastels, you could understand how I loathed to risk my paint over some unwanted box of essential oils if the rule of three(s) should come into play. With the threefold rule hanging over my head, I wanted the box to be on its merry way asap and trouble me no longer.
By the way, last week the Sennelier watercolors arrived in the mail. I’ve tried different brands, and I am convinced Sennelier ranks among the highest quality of watercolors.