Warning: If you are squeamish about ailments impacting the female nether regions, move along… there is nothing to see here, or hear here… or whatever.
Still with me? Okay. Here we go.
So, a fun side effect of my new meds is increased risk of yeast infections. Yeah, that kind… down there. Small percentage. Less than 5%. That said, you know where this is going.
Yesterday, one week into a new prescription, I now know why dogs scoot along the carpet that way. That long softish constant scratching would be just perfect for sating such a maddening, distracting, and unrelenting burning itch. Seriously. So uncomfortable, could not even consider leaving the house.
Instacart delivery offerings include CVS, so I figured this was the way to go. I could stay home (and resist executing the carpet scoot move) for a couple of hours, while waiting for sweet relief to magically appear on my doorstep, and save my and my lady parts. So, I placed an order for EVERYTHING I could possibly need to knock this out of my system… the “ultimate bag of embarrassment”, and waited.
Within two hours, I got the text message that my order has been delivered. Hallelujah!!! I would have run downstairs, but even walking was painful. A slow and deliberate gait brought me to the front door.
Gleefully flinging the door ajar, and leaning down to retrieve my rescue… I found nothing there. No package. Whaaaa? I waddle out to the sidewalk, and visually scan the front porches of all my neighbors. (I live in a townhome.) No package.
Pulling out my cell phone, I open the delivery notification, and inspect the photo of the package on my front porch. It looks just like my front porch, but fortunately, the photo was taken from such a distance as to include the address posted next to the door. Mother F%$#er! THAT IS NOT MY PORCH. My package was on the front porch of a home in a neighboring building, with a one digit difference in address, about a 2 block walk from my house.
Without even thinking much about it, I started walking over there, in my pajamas and crocks, with my hair still in yesterday’s ponytail. I figured I would just stealthily scoop the package out of this neighbor’s entryway, and be on my way as quickly as was comfortable. No big deal.
But as I arrived at the location in the photograph… there was no package there either.
I stood there and thought about it all for a moment. There are 192 homes in my development, and while I know a lot of people (from being on the condo association’s council), I still don’t know MOST of the people who live here. I really, really, really wanted my satchel of relief, and did not want to wait another 2-3 hours of complaining to customer service, getting a refund, and having the order filled and delivered again. I decided to ring the bell, and ask if my package was there.
As the door swung open, I realized that we were in Awkward Olympics Gold Medal territory.
My fellow council member, Dennis, appeared behind the storm door.
Me: Oh, hey, Dennis. How ya doin?
Dennis: Hi there. What can I do for you?
Me: Um… Did you get a package from CVS today, that you didn’t order.
*Dennis’ wife appears behind him, holding the opened bag.
Dennis: Oh, yeah! I got it, and showed it to my wife, and she said she didn’t order any of that. We were stumped.
Me: Yeah, so was I, until I saw the delivery notification that showed it sitting on YOUR porch!
*Wife hands bag to Dennis, who opens the door and passes it along to me.
Dennis and Wife: Feel better!
Me: Ugh. Yes. Thank you.
I trudged angrily back home, and unleashed a barrage of reviews, emails, and phone calls to Instacart.
Current status: I do not feel that a $10 credit, and having that delivery person banned from filling my orders ever again, is nearly enough compensation for my inconvenience, discomfort, humiliation, and embarrassment.
The idiot here is, of course, the delivery guy.
One would think that any delivery person, seeking a tip, would want to assure that such a treasure trove of personal items was bestowed upon its rightful owner.
Note: Okay, so if I am posting this for all to read, I am obviously very difficult to embarrass, or at least I recover from humiliation gracefully. I could have kept this between Instacart, Dennis, Mrs. Dennis, and me… but I feel that sharing stuff like this always helps others to feel less uncomfortable about things that we all experience. There are many people who would NOT have gone to retrieve that package, or risked having a neighbor assaulted with TMI like that. Poor Dennis. It will be interesting to see if either of us have the guts to mention this at the next council meeting…