Yesterday, as I approached the house after work, I caught a sight that immediately evoked a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Only it was less of a sinking into the stomach feeling and more of a rising of the stomach into my throat feeling.
Or the two combined.
I haven’t opened a Gas or Hydro bill since September 1807…
But wait! That logo doesn’t belong to a utility company…
Ah… it must be a registered letter from the landlord. I’m 21 days late on the rent. It’s clearly an eviction warning…
But wait! Registered letters come by registered mail, not by FedEx.
Who is this letter from? What do they want?
We will re-attempt delivery tomorrow by 5:00 PM
The glorified Post-It menaced.
I tossed and turned sleeplessly all night, sweating and fretting about tomorrow’s call from fate.
I racked my brain.
No recent eBay purchases.
No official documents expected.
No recent “I’m mailing you an envelope of Anthrax” threats…
As the morning sun crept over the housetops I dragged myself reluctantly from the safety of my duvet. I made a strong cup of coffee and put on a brave face.
I was working at home when the doorbell rang again.
I knew there was no point in prolonging the torment.
I knew I had no choice but to face my fears.
I’m a big girl, I whispered to myself as I took the long walk down the front foyer.
There he stood, through the *frosted glass of the little window of the front door. **The bold FedEx logo glaring on his chest.
I took a deep breath and opened the door.
“Miss Chapman!” ***He barked accusingly, and shoved the package so forcefully into my abdomen that it knocked the wind out of me for at least 12 seconds.
My hands were trembling.
Who sends an eviction notice in a box?
I stabbed at the cardboard with the steak knife I had earlier used to cut my morning cupcake (don’t ask) with because I’m
impatient gross lazy not a quick-thinker when in traumatized with terror.
I tore at the paper stuffing, thrashing the box about wildly in a desperate attempt to rid it of it’s (probably poisonous) contents.
Damn you FedEx! Damn you straight to hell with your impossible to open boxes made of cast iron disguised as carton!! My voice echoed into the cold stillness of my impending demise.
I’m not afraid of you!! Get out of the box you spineless, cowardly what-ever-the-hell you are! Come on! Bring it!!!!!
So… it was probably about 2 months ago that I called Hasbro and informed them that there were no replacement part order forms for Boggle on their Canadian website.
The sweet customer service agent told me that she would send me the forms by mail.
The angel clearly went ahead and sent me the parts instead.
While I continue to live in fear of having both the Gas and the Hydro cut off, my heart stays warmed because I heart the Hasbro customer service lady more than she can possibly imagine.
- We may soon have no heat, hot water or electricity (again) -
But we WILL have BOGGLE.
And really, does anything else even matter when you have BOOGLE?
And Candles… and matches…?
*That was a lie. The glass on our front door window isn’t frosted. I just thought it sounded cooler.
**Also a lie. I couldn’t see the logo anywhere.
***Didn’t happen. He was super sweet and jolly.