I shake my fist at my fallen blender and formulate a game plan. I need a new blender. I go online (Thanks Be to the Internet) and start comparing prices and reviews. I find a KitchenAid blender with amazing reviews. It dices, it chops, it purees, it does the dishes, it holds and consoles you at night. I check the price and while not completely outrageous, it still seems more than I usually would be willing to pay for a blending machine. In this economy a man needs to make choices. Against my better judgment I convince myself that this is a smart purchase and hit the buy now button.
I wince at the screen while it processes and it prints up a neat invoice. My blender should arrive in a week: which clearly falls on Cinco de Mayo. Suddenly it’s a fiesta in my own mind. Who cares about the Ides of March when you have a blender coming in on Cinco de Mayo. I start to brainstorm immediately on what I can make when it comes in. I spend the next five days planning on what I am going to make with the new amazing device. On the third of the Mayo, I find some great deals and decide to purchase some ingredients (on sale!) for a soup I have been wanting to try. On the fourth of Mayo (aka Cinco de Mayo eve), I decide I should purchase some salsa ingredients to keep in the spirit of the holiday.
When I get home, I prep the kitchen for the soon-to-be arrived blender. I neatly organize the ingredients for quick use: first, fire roasted tomatoes, followed by red onion which goes with garlic, trailed by jalapeños and green onions, and spices aplenty set up neatly on the counter. In my mind I figure I have my ingredients set up so that I could make up a batch of salsa in less than seven minutes. (If of course the blender reviews are as accurate I am counting on them to be.)
Cinch de Mayo arrives and I as luck would have I am working before the sun comes up. All day long I have visions of jalapeños dancing in my head. I get home around one and am disappointed to find nothing at the door. I send Paul a text. Occasionally our packages get delivered to Paul’s work because it’s only half a block from our place. Paul texts back and assures that it hasn’t arrived and perhaps I should contact our office.
Good advice, I completely forgot that the office at our condo center frequently signs for packages and holds them for residents. I call and immediately get the ‘we are busy’ message machine. I hang up and dial again ,twice, until I reach a person.
“Excuse me,” I say trying to sound nonchalant, “ I am expecting a package today, by any chance did you receive anything for my place?”
I hear the manager moving to the background and unlocking the giant cabinet where they keep packages. She rummages through and asks for my name twice. No packages and there actually hasn’t been a delivery yet for the day. I thank her kindly and hang up the phone. I am exhausted . I decide to shut my eyes for a moment and wake with a start an hour later.
No knock at the door. No blender.
I accept that this Cinco might not be a fiesta after all. Angrily… poutingly, I arise and start to chop vegetables by hand. I don’t want any ingredients to spoil, and I figure if I can’t make salsa, then I will just make pico de gallo instead. Which just means here’s my chopped up vegetables because I sure as hell couldn’t have blended them without a blender. Paul gets home and we are quick out the door. It’s haircut time. On the way there, I realize that I left the pico de Gallo out on the counter. I drop Paul off and go home to refrigerate the Pico and return before my haircut.
On my way back home, I speculate the postman probably left me a notice in the mail box if he arrived while we were out. I pull in next to the mailbox and check. No post card. I get home, put the Pico in the fridge and cross the busy intersection. While I making a turn I realize the UPS guy is at an apartment complex across the street. Without realizing it, I find myself pulling into a parking spot directly behind the UPS truck. I hesitate and watch the UPS guy gather packages before walking into complex which is surround by high bushes. I figure it is better to let him work before I interrupt him so I watch while he disappears behind the iron gates.
When he comes out, he finds me leaning against the bumper, arms crossed, anticipating his arrival but still trying to maintain a certain level of cool. He looks at me quizzical and ask if I need I anything.
“Do you have my blender?” I ask.
He looks confused and I follow up with a mumbling rant “ Oh, I ordered a blender, it should come in today, I am going to make salsa.”
I don’t know if he follows me a hundred percent, so I ask him if he has delivered across the street yet. He says that he hasn’t but ask for my name so he can check his delivery invoice. I walk with him to the side of his truck and he says he is going to check. I stand in the open door of his truck. One side of the truck is empty and the other is piled high with packages. I spend the next ten minutes watching him slide the boxes from the full side to the empty side until finally the contents of the truck are completely reversed.
“Are you sure it arrives today?” he calls from the inside of the truck moving back towards the open door.
“I think so,” I shout trying to recall the email I received, “It said it would arrive 5-9 business days and today’s the 5th business day.” I hear his feet stamping as he gets closer to the driver side.
“It’s not coming today kid.” he says giving me a look and puts his keys back in the ignition.
“Oh, well if comes tomorrow, I’m working most of the day, so if it arrives I probably won’t be home, but then you could probably drop it off at….” I trail off because I can tell he is not really listening anymore. I step away from the truck while he fires up the engine. As he pulls away I start to realize that perhaps there is a fine (or fairly thick ) line between being passionate and being psychotic.
And once again I have found the way cross it.
UPDATE: The blender did arrive on Seis de Mayo!
