Unspecial Delivery

By Francesca

I recently moved to a new apartment, so now I get to start the happy business of furnishing it. Already, this is an easier process than it was in my old place. In my last apartment, the “living room” was like a bowling alley but not as long. It was so narrow, the heat from the TV screen could warm you on the couch—like a crackling fire with commercial breaks.

Although it was fun to realize my childhood fantasy of living like The Boxcar Children, it was an inconvenient layout for home furnishing. Thankfully, my new apartment has a more sensible layout and is sized for adult humans, so I’ve been saving up to get the coffee table of my dreams.

I found one I loved, but it was at the top of my price range. I needed a bargain, or better, I wanted a steal. So I staked out the company website, waiting for a sale. Every plan needs a man on the inside, so I went to the store a few times to befriend a salesperson—code name: Brendan, real name: also Brendan.

After months of lying in wait, a sale popped up.

I was on the phone with my boy that very day. I had just recited my credit-card number into the phone when Brendan said, “Now, as far as shipping, we recommend white-glove delivery with this item.”

I asked how much that cost.

He told me and I almost dropped the phone.

I assured him “standard” was fine.

“Just to be clear, standard delivery means curbside.”

Curbside? Even Domino’s will bring the pizza to your door.

I live in New York City; anything left curbside will be either stolen or peed on by about fifty passing dogs and several humans.

“For ninety-nine dollars more, we also have the ‘Room of Choice’ delivery option.”

I live in a tiny apartment, there’s really only one room to choose.

And for ninety-nine dollars, they still won’t open the package for me?

Brendan, I thought we were friends.

“The nice thing about white-glove delivery is that they’ll make sure the item is not damaged in any way.”

I said I assumed if the table came damaged, that wouldn’t be my problem.

“But in that case, we can’t know whether the item arrived damaged or if you damaged it.”

Presuming the buyer is lying at all times—customer service for the new economy.

He continued, “With white-glove service, they’ll unpack it, inspect it, assemble it, and clean up the mess.” He proceeded to go into a lengthy explanation of how the glass is delivered in a wooden crate that’s hard to dispose of, etc., etc.

I interrupted that, while I appreciate the heads-up, I don’t need to pay someone to take out the trash.

“It’s not just that. The glass top weighs about 150 pounds,” he said. “It’s difficult even for me. There’s no way a woman could lift it.”

I wondered if he could hear my jaw set.

I don’t like to be told I can’t do something. I get that from Mother Mary.

And I’m not some dainty little lady. I work out lifting weights. I can squat over 100 lbs. Admittedly, that requires me getting the thing across my back. Here, we’re talking about a large, round, unwieldy piece of glass, and with Pip as my only spotter, it didn’t sound like a wise move.

But the cost of white-glove delivery would cancel out any discount earned during the sale. I smelled a conspiracy.

But people who believe in conspiracies aren’t taken seriously, so I couldn’t say that. Instead, I thought of the one person who’s always taken seriously.

Mom.

WWMD?

So in my best Mean Mommy tone, I told him I was “very disappointed” in these options and I would have to think about it.

Then I didn’t call what’shisname back for two whole days.

On the third day, he called me saying they could add on an employee “Friends and Family” discount to my sale price.

They only want you when they can’t have you.

Salesmen are still men.

We had a deal! Two weeks later, my long-awaited table was set to arrive. I could finally stop drinking my coffee out of an adult-size sippy cup.

I don’t know what I expected “white-glove” deliverymen to look like, but the two cranky, schlubby guys frowning at me from my doorway were not it.

Is there some rule that deliverymen must be paired in the style of Mutt and Jeff? There’s always a short, squat one and a tall, reedy one. Ironic in a profession that requires carrying things at more or less the same height.

And there’s only ever one who does the talking, while the other stands mute. I’m always suspicious that the talker is keeping the tips to himself.

The two rushed in with the cardboard box (wooden crate, my foot) and assembled the table so quickly you’d think they were contestants on Minute to Win It.

They were almost out the door when I realized the table’s asymmetrical legs did not match the picture on the instructions, and I called them back.

Jeff said they had built it correctly, the instructions were wrong.

Mutt blinked in agreement.

I wasn’t buying it.

Well, technically I’d already bought it, but I wasn’t happy. So we went back and forth about it, and in the end, Jeff won, because I couldn’t figure out how to make it match the diagram either. I had to let them go.

After they left, I got the bright idea to make a paper-doll version of all the table’s parts so I could experiment with the assembly.

So there I was, sitting on the floor with my arts and crafts project, rapidly cutting and folding like some master of origami, when—Eureka! In making my model, I had identified the mistake and knew how to fix it.

Guy Fieri, where’s my million dollars?

With no time to lose, I bolted from my apartment, burst on to the street, and ran down the delivery truck just as it was rounding the corner. When the truck stopped to see what this madwoman was doing, I actually leapt up to the driver’s side and stuck my head in the window.

“You have to come back,” I panted. “I figured it out.”

“We have other deliveries to make, and you already signed for it—”

If they didn’t think I was crazy already, they knew for sure when I exploded with, “THIS IS WHITE-GLOVE DELIVERY!”

And back they came. I showed them my paper-crane model, and they begrudgingly reassembled it. I thanked them, they grunted and left.

When Brendan called to check how my delivery had gone, I told him the whole story. He seemed genuinely frustrated for me, which made us friends again.

“You’re sure it’s right now?” he asked.

I said yes.

“If there’s any other problem, call me. I’ll come to your apartment and fix it myself.”

Now that’s customer service.