Good morning lovelies. I’m sitting here drinking iced coffee and listening to a little something called Boner Jams 2011 , trying to get up the nerve to call FedEx and argue with them.
What could have possibly happened that would require me to drink two large cups of coffee and pump myself up with a hugely inappropriate (if hilariously named) music mix? Well, a while I ago I posted this list of things I was lusting after, and although the pillows, curtains and ring remain in the ether world of Internet things, I did in fact order the Samsonite train case (how could I NOT?) and also the shower curtain and this duvet cover.
Both the shower curtain and the duvet cover were ordered from Urban Outfitters in a balls-deep attempt to push myself out of my all-white phase. Everything I own used to be white, shower curtains, couches, chairs, walls and duvet covers all. I am gingerly stepping toward colour, bold, brash swathes of it. Intense turquoises and mustard yellows, mouth watering pinks. So, I ordered these two fantastical creations and waited. And waited, and waited and waited.
Then one day, a knock on my door. I quickly ran to answer it and there, back-lit by the bright afternoon sun, stood an adorably bearded Fed Ex man. In his hands he held a small package and I just knew that within that small package lay my salvation, my future of brightly lit rooms and lively colours.
Within that package lay laughter and redemption. REDEMPTION.
And then beardy opened his mouth and told me I owed $48.56 for duty.
What the WHAT!?
Hey, quick question: Did you know that when you order things from the US of A you have to pay some sort of evil hell-dwelling tax just because that small, innocent little package took a quick jaunt across the border? Oh you already knew that? Everyone does? Hahahahahahah that’s hilarious I DIDN’T.
How is this possible? We’re neighbours! Isn’t ordering stuff from America just like running across the street to borrow a cup of sugar? Doesn’t NAFTA mean anything anymore? North American FREE Trade Agreement bitches. $48.56 is not free. In fact it’s forty-eight dollars and fifty-six cents MORE than free.
This “duty” was almost half the amount I had spent on the two items. I just couldn’t justify it adding another third onto the total price simply because I don’t live in a country with a hot president and 24-hour grocery stores.
Sadly I asked the bearded messiah if I would still have to pay the duty if I refused the package, he assured me with a wink and a quip about highway robbery that I wouldn’t. So friends, I did it. I refused the package and stood there, watching silently as my brightly lit future disappeared down my front walk and was spirited away within the cold metal confines of an unmarked van.
I was taking a stand, for all of us. For justice!
The sun disappeared behind a dark, ominous looking cloud. A loud clap of thunder rumbled above. The first rain drops fell.
(Ok obviously that’s a slight exaggeration but that’s what it felt like guys, my SOUL was crying. Also, the thunder may have been a Gus fart, I’m not really sure)
Time marched on, eventually the wound healed and I begin to feel whole again.
Until a week ago when I received a bill from Fed Ex for – wait for it – UNPAID DUTY in the amount of $48.56.
What the WHAT?!?!
That bearded, (probably)Satan-loving douche-canoe lied to me! And now every day I get up and look at that bill stuck to my fridge with a martini glass magnet and my heart sinks a little because I know I’m going to have to call and argue with them. They’ll politely insist I pay it and I’ll say no, your (probably) devil-worshiping delivery man LIED. I’ll have to ask for a supervisor and the supervisor too will insist I pay it and this whole bullshit shenanigan will continue up the chain of command until they relent and rescind the charges.
I know that this will be the outcome -eventually- but up until that point I will have to be pushy and insistent and strident and demanding – and I am no good at being any of these things.
I tried bribing Adam to call on my behalf but he knows how much I utterly detest these situations, knows that I am loathe to so much as send back a dish in a restaurant, so he held the upper hand in bargaining. His demands were unreasonable, negotiations stalled and then fell through entirely. (We took vows, ADAM).
So friends, here I sit surrounded by empty coffee cups, Boner Jams blaring, trying to psych myself up enough to argue with a series of faceless FedEx drones.
God help us all.