Yesterday I had a plane flight that involved a very tight connection in Minneapolis-St. Paul. The B.A. Jersey Girl and I made it, thanks to some speed-walking on the rolling lanes and light jogging through an underground tunnel, but unfortunately our bags didn’t. Instead, they got routed to Detroit, for some reason, and were supposed to make it to Columbus late last night.
When we found out at the Columbus airport that the luggage wouldn’t make it to town until much later, we had a choice: either have the bags delivered last night, or this morning. I figured there was no way I wanted to wait up for a delivery that probably wouldn’t happen until well after midnight, so I chose this morning instead. And because I’ve read about the scourge of Amazon porch pirates and therefore think it’s probably not wise to leave two fully stuffed bags sitting out on the front steps for the entire day, this morning I’m in the delivery waiting zone.
The problem with being in the delivery waiting zone is that the estimates of arrival time are regrettably . . . imprecise. The websites and 1-800 numbers are nice, and certainly give you a lot of information about the torturous route your bags have followed — in addition to giving you more than ample privacy disclosures — but the reality is that you’re still looking at about a six-hour window, and you’re never quite sure whether your stuff is being successfully delivered until it actually hits your doorstep and you hear the doorbell ring.
Time for another cup of coffee!