Rerouted

This morning I ordered some items from Amazon for some last-minute Christmas gifts. When I received my confirmation email I noticed that I hadn’t chosen our home address as the shipping address. Instead it would be delivered to school. After tomorrow at 3:10 there won’t be a soul in sight around here until January 5. I found the customer service number and dialed. When an actual person actually picked up it sounded like I was calling Santa himself at the North Pole. The line was so full of static that I could barely make out the Indian elf on the other end. I tried to explain what the problem was to which the woman on the other end responded with what sounded like “odor blubber.” I think she mistakenly thought I had ordered a rotting dead whale carcass, which I hear is one of the hot ticket items for the holidays. After the fourth time repeating “I’m sorry, I can’t understand you” I think she was mad and sounded out in her best American accent “Orrrrrrrrrderrrrrrrrrrr Nummmmmmberrrrrrrrrrr.” I gave it to her and she pulled up my account. She said that she could reroute the shipment to the other address I had on file. I told her that would be great and she confirmed that the order would now be shipped to 106 Constitution Drive in Milford, Connecticut. Of course I immediately tried to explain to her that this was not my address and by her silence on the other end I could tell that this completely baffled her. She asked me when was the last time I lived there to which I responded with “never.” I think she was beginning to wonder if I was a battered husband that had gone into the witness protection program. I then had to repeat my address over and over. “No, not Girl Street….Earl Street….E-A-R-L…. No, there’s no B….I don’t live on Barl Street.” Exactly 21 minutes later I ended the call, praying that it would get delivered to the right address. If not, my brother will be opening up a gift of leftover apple juice from our Christmas party today.