FedEx Follies

We had to ship back a bunch of stuff from our trip to SPX last week; we were able to take some back in our luggage, but Monica had to FedEx a box back home. 20 pounds, no signature required.

Through the magic of the Internet, we'd been tracking its progress. And, Thursday morning, it was on the truck and slated for delivery and remained that way throughout the day. We got in later that evening (taking the Nissan to the shop for a new battery; the 14-year-old original seems to have finally gone), and no box yet. Checked online, and it was marked as delivered, about the same time we got in. Nope, no package outside.

Call FedEx, the automated system offers no insight, but some odd automated message in the "signed by" area. Call back, get an operator. Yep, there it was, delivered to apartment 4__ instead of 11__. March on down to apartment 4__, no box outside, nobody home. Back home, call FedEx operator again. With no signature required, they don't even record if someone signed for it, so there's no way to know if they left it with the resident or just outside. Until tomorrow, when they can check with the driver, and can call me back. Back down to the apartment to leave a note.

A couple hours later, a call from the resident. She's got the box. Turns out, she's expecting a piece of furniture, and so signed for it and didn't even look at what it was before heading out. Gratefully, I lug the box back home.

Friday, a kind of defensive message on my voice mail from FedEx, insisting that the package was delivered to 4__, as it said on the package.

That evening, we were heading to an AIGA Santa Fe reception, in honor of a weekend-long visit from Jim Sherraden from Hatch Show Print. That was a pretty great time, got to speak to Jim again (and, again, couldn't have been nicer) and visit with some other designers (including another recent DC-area transplant). Took place in the courtyard at the Palace of the Governors, out in front of the letterpress print shop there.

Headed back home, pull up in front, and there's a FedEx truck in my parking spot. Wait a minute, he comes running out, acknowledges that he's in my spot, pulls out. We pull in, get out of the car, and peer up to our apartment — big box outside. FedEx guy gets out of his truck, asks if one of us is (name of resident from 4__). No, I reply, but I think she's in 4__. Does it seem like it's a piece of furniture? Yes, it does . . .