Being late is plain rude. And disorganized.
Even now, I am seldom disorganized.
While it is perhaps possible I may have been a trifle rude, on occasion, it would only have been mildly so and only under duress.
Though there was that time, in Kolkata airport…it may have been a little extreme. As I recall, I managed to disparage my employer while being loudly rude about the people who had so irked me…. but I think I will not tell you what I said. My travelling companion was hugely amused. There were a few raised eyebrows among the ex-patriots who happened to be in earshot.
Not the sort of thing I usually do. I am the most patient, stoic person but I have low tolerance of pig-headed stupidity. Which, dare I say it, you get often in the airports of this world.
Tim, my travelling companion on that occasion might describe me differently, but then he always was my harshest critic.
The point is, I endeavour never to be late and can count on one hand the times when circumstances beyond my control made me so. The same can be said of Grant.
Yesterday, we were going to an appointment at a new facility so we could only estimate the length of our journey, but as usual we allowed 15 extra minutes over what we believed the minimum travel time ought to be, given that the usual slow-pokes were bound to swing onto the road just in front of us.
What we could not have factored in was a minor explosion.
It is debatable, I think, who ought to carry the blame. Let me explain…
Grant is very good with his hands. He makes things, belts and straps and bags. He orders buckles that come by mail. He was expecting another small package of this sort. So when he came home yesterday morning with the familiar looking item, he took it downstairs without so much as glancing at it.
Why he decided to open it, ten minutes before our ETD, I don’t know. I suppose ten minutes would have been quite adequate.
Upstairs, explaining to Willow where I was going and when to expect me back, I suddenly heard:
“Now what?” I called.
“OMG! I can’t believe this! What the HELL!”
Grant appeared at the top of the stairs, carrying with him a pungent and familiar odour, definitely not buckles. He was clutching his package, one of those mailer-type things you would use for, well buckles for example.
It might be said that he should have read the address label which carried my name. I would have been surprised to receive what I had ordered in an envelope rather than a box. Indeed, I had rather been counting on a box because previously when I received a shipment from this company, it arrived in a box which sent the cats into paroxysms of delight.
Probably, I would have exercised care in opening the package, as opposed to what Grant did, expecting nothing more effusive than buckles.
He was somewhat startled therefore, upon boldly cutting into the package to suddenly find himself in a yellow, pungent cloud of Tandoori Masala .
Grant has become a connoisseur of curry.
It is some distance, to the nearest Indian restaurant and once Covid hit, no-one was going anywhere for the foreseeable future. Certainly not for curry.
So Grant decided to cook it himself.
From all appearances and from the aroma, I would say he has become a master. Once, I would have been able to sample it myself and Grant would be happy to prepare a vegetarian version. But I can no longer eat anything remotely spicy.
A couple of weeks ago, Grant came home with a bag full of spices that our local supermarket had on offer.
Not bad for an upstate market, but Grant seeks to expand his “flavour base” and also to purchase in larger quantities, so…
Having previously purchased a sample of spices online that came in a box that our little darlings swooned over…
(Catnip be damned. They wanted the real stuff!)
…anything to keep everyone happy.
Which is why I was expecting a box and not an envelope.
And that is why we found ourselves trying to decant a pound of organic tandoori masala into a conveniently empty container with care, but not much time.
It tends to fly about a bit and I didn’t really want to meet my new primary care physician smelling of curry.
The poor cats had to be contented with the piece of paper that the smaller cans were wrapped in.
Come to think of it, I’m not sure how they managed to make it all fit in an envelope.
Maybe it’s just us, but we seem to have a lot of issues with shipping.
Today it was a different sort of explosion but sadly an all too familiar one.
This company has excellent customer service and they will always respond to a complaint promptly, replacing items that were damaged.
But their packing department…
Packing, in one form or another is something I have done all my life. It’s not hard but it needs to be done properly, with a little thought.
And these days there is very little. Probably because no-one is paid to think:
“Here’s a shipment, here’s a box, there’s the tape.”
“Oh, and shove a bit of brown paper in.”
Often the tape is barely attached.
Then it goes to the shipper whose delivery man sometimes takes a short cut by tossing our box in a ditch out on the rural route.
“What a long-winded way of saying nothing!”
That’s kind of what my new PCP’s face said too.
Muffin wishes to thank you for your kind thoughts.