I’ve been obsessively checking UPS’s online tracking service looking for my new Mac. I refreshed after I saw two UPS men with a big cart go past my office and wow! it said delivered! so I ran to the mailroom. No go. It’s not there. I call UPS. They can tell me it was delivered, and who signed for it, but not where it was delivered. Ok. I dash downstairs – the security guards haven’t seen UPS. I check the dock. Nada. Just as I’m walking back in defeat, I corner a UPS guy by the elevator. He promises to come up to my floor. On the elevator, I start a conversation with a lady headed upstairs:
“Can you believe UPS managed to lose a package inside the building? It was signed for by someone named Lips, but there’s no one by that name on my floor.”
The woman says “That’s my floor! I’ll take you to our mailroom!”
And she does. By the time the UPS guy arrives, I have found my package one floor up. I am overjoyed once more. Can I restrain myself ’til tonight? Doubtful. My officemate glances at the big box and says “What, do you have a dog in there?”
Competing for my attention and affection: my interlibrary loan book The Bear’s Embrace has arrived at the library. I heard the author on NPR and this story made me cringe even more than most people recoil from my scar. She described being attacked by a bear and hearing the bear’s teeth scraping her skull. It sounded like a dog gnawing a bone. Oooh. Icky.