For the record: my husband is the kindest, sweetest, most patient man on the planet. He practically qualifies for sainthood. And this coming from a Jewish girl is high praise indeed.
So, please keep that in mind while I recount the story of my almost-a-saint spouse and his terrible, rotten, no good day.
Yes, poor Handsome Hubby aka HH was having a tough day. His clients were driving him crazy. His children — OK, our children — were driving him crazy. Possibly, even I was driving him (a little) crazy.
DoorDash Delivery, Please Do!
Still, as harried and harassed as he was, HH kindly paused to place a dinner delivery order for us. While waiting, he continued working, plodding on through the exhaustion and aggravation. His phone rang. I happened to be in the hall outside his office and overheard this rapid-fire one side of the conversation that transpired:
“What do you mean, I entered the same address as the restaurant for the delivery? That’s ridiculous. Why would I do that? I’m not an idiot. I order food from DoorDash all the time. My address is in the system anyway.”
Unintelligible, but unpleasant sounding reply.
Then: “No, our address is not the same as the restaurant. Our address is ….”
(Personal aside: Now, I, of course, know our address. Yet, I could barely make out what HH said. That’s how fast he shout-grunted it to the delivery guy.)
“No, I do not want the food delivered to the restaurant. Obviously, I want it delivered to my home.”
DoorDash Delivery Debate
I thought of stepping into that room of boiling — make that exploding — testosterone. I thought of gently suggesting that HH repeat our address s-l-o-w-l-y and even thank the delivery man for his diligence in trying to correct the problem. But, as a many-years-married woman, I was too schooled in the ways of grouchy husbands to risk intervention. So, I stayed the Hell out of harm’s way.
The call ended. Clearly, there had not been a meeting of the minds or, more importantly, an understanding of the correct delivery address.
DoorDash Delivery Debacle
So, you don’t need a crystal ball or a Ph.D. in delivery services to know where this delivery was — or was not — heading. There was no way we were getting our food. So, I tip-toed upstairs and quietly started cobbling together something to eat.
HH somehow still had an abundance of optimism. He bounded up the stairs, fuming about the call, and “some stupid computer error,” but convinced dinner would arrive “in 15-20 minutes.”
Always an Optimist
That’s what I love about the guy — his cockeyed optimism. He fights climate change and also, believes in a deliveryman, even when he just trash-talked the fellow.
So, I quickly draped a dishtowel over the food fixings I had pulled out of the refrigerator, thus hiding my own lack of faith in food delivery salvation.
We sat down on the couch and talked about HH’s bad day. We talked for 43 minutes until HH’s phone buzzed. It was a photo from the delivery man — a photo showing that our food had been delivered as promised — delivered to the address on the order, the restaurant from which it had been bought!
I tried to stifle my laughter as I walked back into the kitchen and resumed fixing dinner.
Meanwhile, HH went back downstairs to continue the fight against climate change — and also, the charge for the food that had not arrived at our house.
We ate at eight. The DoorDash delivery charges were dropped.
Meanwhile, the fight against climate change continues. Handsome Hubby remains optimistic.