It's Not Delivery, It's Depressing

Proximity to me, when trying to order food is still dangerous.

When I got home tonight, I was very tired. Dude was very hungry. I was not. He decided it was Cheesecake Night, and ordered a bunch of his favorite foods, plus pretzel bites and a slice of cheesecake for me (to be balanced by the Caesar salad already prepared in the fridge).
I fell asleep.

When I woke up, he was on the phone. "It was supposed to be here an hour ago. It's not here. No. No. It was not on the front porch. There is no front porch. No. No. No he didn't ring the bell. I've been waiting here the whole time. No. Can you ... I'm looking at the app now. He didn't drop it off at the right address. Saint Mark Street. SAINT. Saint Mark Street. He dropped it off at Mark Street. I mean don't you use GPSes? Is my address wrong on the order? Ok. Well ... no ... he didn't. No. He.." He turns to me. "She hung up on me."

We talked for a few minutes, as he waited for her to call back. She did not. So he called the delivery place again. I went in to the other room to check e-mail. When he came out, he said "They say they'll refund my money but they can't get us the food because they took SO LONG arguing with me that the restaurant closed."

"I'll just order from somewhere else. It will be fine."

He looked like it was Kick Rocks O'clock. "I think I"m just going to go to sleep."

"Ok."

"WAIT! It's $60 worth of food. I'm just going to go to Mark Street and pick it up."

I made a sour face. "It's probably already gone. Didn't they say they dropped it off an hour ago? It's not going to be there. But I'll order a Lyft." Except I won't because there haven't been any Lyfts available in the city of Boston since March. "I'm sorry. There aren't any."

Dude finds an Uber that will drive him to Mark Street and back. He gets dressed. I order food. He takes his Uber.

Fifteen minutes later he calls. "The food isn't here. Also the Uber driver sped off instead of waiting, like I asked him. I'm coming home and going to sleep."

"Ok. I'm sorry."

But little does he know I've ordered frozen yogurt AND sorbet. Mango/Watermelon sorbet with strawberries and mangoes. Pina Colada sorbet with cherries. Vanilla froyo with Heath bar crunch, waffle cone bits, and butterscotch. Vanilla froyo with cheesecake, caramel, and pecans.

He comes home. There are giant hot pretzels, chicken Caesar salads, fish and chips (I didn't mention that yesterday he ordered fish and chips, and the place delivered a fish that they fried without fileting or deboning, so it was all tail, scales, and bones.), mashed potatos, and the aforementioned froyo and sorbet.

What he doesn't know is that the froyo and sorbet were delivered flawlessly but when I went to pick up the hot food from our lobby, they'd left a small paper bag of French Fries, a sub bag full of plasticware and napkins, and nothing else. And I'd chased that shitty delivery guy down the street, caught him, and exchanged the bag o'crap for my actual food. Because I was not going to let the night end as inconvenient as it began.

The sorbet was Astounding.

​The froyo is for tomorrow.