Knowing Things Just Makes Me Angry

I ordered myself a new electric toothbrush on January 26^th. It was supposed to arrive by January 29^th but didn’t show up until Feb 5^th. This wasn’t that upsetting. In fact, I assumed it’d either be delayed by bad weather or by one of America’s new presidential decrees. What truly angered me, though, was knowing the exact whereabouts of the toothbrush at all times.

According to its travel blog, my toothbrush spent six days hanging out in Lexington, KY. It even boasted about arriving at a well-known facility while it was there. Twice.  

Meanwhile, I was in Seattle rationing out dental chews and nostalgically remembering life before Amazon.com. Back then, if I wanted something that wasn’t locally available, I would:

1. Salvage our Sears catalog from the kindling pile.
2. Fill out the paper order form.
3. Calculate the cost + tax + shipping charges by doing math.
4. Convince one of my parents to write a check.
5. Stuff the order form and check into an envelope.
6. Address it by hand.
7. Go to the post office.
8. Attach a 10-cent stamp to the envelope.
9. Mail it.
10. Hope.

My mom would then serve as the real-time tracking system. Unfortunately, she rarely wielded any additional insights, no matter how many times I asked. There was simply no way to trace my order’s journey to the fulfilment center, to know if the item I wanted was still in stock, when it would be shipped, or when it would arrive. Or even if it would arrive.

So, I just kept hoping.

Hoping that my order would arrive at any moment. That it had made an adventurous but steady trek across rolling grasslands, vast deserts, and snowy mountains. That its carrier had remained safe from rabid wildlife and hostile natives. And that it hadn’t, even under the most outlandish set of circumstances, spent six days in Lexington, KY.