Why would you want to get groceries online? There's something about going to the store and squeezing those bananas to make sure they're fresh or knocking on a tomato to see if it's ripe. Amazon wants to get into this business, and they're welcome to try, but one piece of advice: Check the address before you leave 37 watermelons on my stoop.
Let me back up. Ten days ago, a huge, heavy, flat box appeared on the stoop.
"Anyone order a tombstone from Amazon?" I asked the family.
They hadn't. I picked it up and heard a thousand things shift around inside, and thought: "Wife bought a jigsaw puzzle that's a full-sized picture of the Hoover Dam."
Then I remembered I had subscribed for automatic dog food delivery. Once a month, I get a box of hound nodules. Dragged it inside.
Returning from a dog walk at dusk, I saw two more boxes on the porch. They were the size you'd buy if you wanted to ship fourth-graders somewhere. One said "BOUNTY TOWELS, 48 rolls," which you'd need if you are housebreaking an elephant. The other had no markings and weighed about 90 pounds; for a moment I thought, "Oh, the tombstone came."
Then I looked at the address: The boxes weren't for me. Usually I'd walk over a package that was delivered by mistake, but one of these was huge and weighty, and getting it down the stairs would require, you know, effort.
I called UPS, but no menu options applied. I kept saying "OPERATOR" even though there aren't any operators anymore. The last one was Delores Martinez, who retired in 1997. She lives in Boca Raton now, and is a bit dotty; she hands people random objects at the community center and says, "Please hold."
