Miss-Pinned

As a regular Amazon shopper, Amazon knows where we live. If packages weren’t delivered to our house, it was one of the “account sharers” getting a package. Whenever I would get a delivery email at our Texas home, I would only glance at it casually. If the package was for us, I would know about it. Much of this could change when you move to a new state in a new subdivision.

Right after we moved to our new house, we started ordering items on Amazon. (a combination of “new house” stuff and Christmas purchases) While we were placing our orders, three of our four kids were also placing orders ON THE SAME account. Of course, once you place an order, items start showing up on your front doorstep. Or, at least, they were supposed to.

The deliveries at the new address were not consistent. The “delivery” email would say something had arrived. When it wasn’t at our front door, I assumed it was a delivery one of my kids had placed. The deliveries to the new house weren’t the sprinkles we would have expected. There was one day when a series of 3 deliveries showed up on the same day. The corresponding email was not available. Despite these inconsistencies, the new TV delivery day was when we knew. The email arrived with an Amazon link to a picture that was NOT of our house. The street map showed a delivery to an address that was NOT ours but was designated as our physical address.

Despite the unpacking I needed to do, this issue became my new priority. What actions were part of solving this problem?

  1. I immediately let Amazon know the delivery address was the incorrect one. I did this on their website.
  2. After running my errands, I drove home so I could go past the house that Amazon had “pinned” as our house. It was not even on our street. If our street would have been extended north a quarter of a mile, it would have ran through a curb, a house, and a fence before arriving at the the shop or our “house”. With a shop and other out buildings, I didn’t feel comfortable walking around on their property.
  3. Barely after I arrived home, there was a knock at the door. The visitor was the owner of the house that had benefited from the “miss-pinning.” He informed me of a few things:
    • They had received numerous Amazon packages addressed to us. On at least one occasion his wife had made a “delivery” to our house of misdelivered packages.
    • They tried to call Amazon and report the problem. Since they did not order the items and were only the recipients, Amazon told them, “They are gifts.” Unfortunately, this went no further at Amazon. Because of the pinning, Amazon thought all was good.
    • While I was talking to our visitor, his wife called him. The Amazon driver was trying to make an additional delivery to their address. After some haggling, the driver agreed to bring over the TV and the other smaller items that were part of today’s deliveries.
    • After our visitor left, I was on the phone with Amazon for nearly an hour. After my wife and I went through the unreceived orders, we determined which items hadn’t been received. With the exception of one item, Amazon created new orders for all of the items we hadn’t received. (They gave a refund on the unavailable item.)
  4. The next few days were a little stressful. The problem wasn’t solved.
    • After receiving emails of delivered items that did not arrive at our address, I called Amazon again. This call was the, “Let’s pull up a map and let me show you how the deliveries are close but wrong.” After walking a very helpful Indian customer service person through the present address pin and the accurate address pin, I had hoped the issue would be resolved within 24 hours
    • There were two additional deliveries to the wrong address as well as an Amazon delivery driver who wasn’t fooled by the “false pinning”. The delivery team realized the pinned address was inaccurate. And, thankfully, they realized the Amazon system may not be infallible.

How did we get into this problem? The only thing I can figure out is my early casualness. If I would have raised flags early on and let Amazon know the address was the wrong one, it would likely avoided all of these issues. The more deliveries made to the wrong address the more “solid” the address was within Amazon’s system. While I don’t plan on moving again soon, I won’t forget my miss-pinning lesson.

Oklahoma Vampires

While this may sound like a late Halloween post, it is not. It does, however, involve blood. It was a pint of double-red O+.

After 14+ years of donating almost entirely double-red blood in Texas (Carter Bloodcare is crediting me with 7 gallons of blood during that time.), I did my first donation in Oklahoma yesterday. As with many things, it was exactly the same but a little bit different. Prior to Texas, I also made several donations in Ohio. Those were pre-blogging and before I observed such things for my own entertainment.

The first difference was only a difference in intensity. Giving blood makes me nervous. It causes my blood pressure to spike. The first attempt to get a reading had them standing with a defibrillator over my anxious body. The second attempt was a manual reading. I still had a high reading, but it was acceptable. Driving home, I realized I usually avoided caffeine on “donation” days. Scheduling the donation the day of the letting made this a little different.

When I was in the middle of the donation, I usually look at the screen. Double red donations involve removing red blood cells and returning the remaining blood back to the body. When the blood is leaving your body, you are supposed to squeeze on the squishy object. During returns, you aren’t supposed to squeeze on anything. The screen mounted to the device is a convenient way to track what is happening. Squeezing when you are not supposed to could have detrimental results. When I asked the nurse what I should use to determine “to squeeze or not to squeeze”, she said, “When the big dial is spinning, it is a return.” If they only had created a screen for this purpose, it would have been easier. I always relied on this in the past.

When blood is returned, the point where the needle is inserted often feels ” chilled.” This could also be accompanied by a coppery taste in the mouth. In the past, I begged to get a Tums. The calcium counteracts this. At Our Blood Institute, they hand out tootsie roll-flavored candies. They were less gritty and tastier. I didn’t taste copper, so they must have worked.

Finally, as I was finishing up, the guy across from me had a seizure or some other negative reaction. I heard ice packs being thrown around and 4 people gathered around his station. He recovered and was talked before I left.

Like all previous donations, I left a pint lower. There is nothing wrong with the Oklahoma vampires’ approach—it is just different.

Fingerprint Amnesia

My Macbook and my iPad don’t know me anymore. They won’t let me tap my finger on the special spot anymore. I attempt to interact with them like I used to, but they are dead. What did I do to upset them? I moved.

It wasn’t that they liked our old house so much. And, it wasn’t them missing their friends. It is the pointer finger on my right hand. It has gone on vacation. It didn’t ask permission. I sent it away during the past week. It won’t return as quickly as I would like it to come back. Touching that “spot” is much easier than typing the password. Okay, I am getting whiney.

I have handled so many boxes over the past few weeks. The colder and dryer the weather, the more rapidly the oils were sucked out of my skin. When I wasn’t wearing gloves (which was often), they nearly poured out. It was not only filling the garage with packed boxes. It was hauling those same boxes to their new assumed location in the new house. And, since they were mislabeled, the boxes were moved 2 or 3 times before they were allowed to have their contents removed.

The hand creme that might provide a cure is buried in one of the boxes I can’t find. A travel tube of creme picked up at Walmart is beginning the fingerprint healing for now. I am hoping the gloves, warmer temps, and the ending of the unpacking phase will allow the memories of my electronic devices to return.

With the moving day now a week in the past, the fingerprint has about a 50/50 chance of sparing me the indignity of password typing. If lucky, it will be nearly 100% by the weekend. Yes, I am entertained easily!

The Sooner Move

After using trash days to target my weekly “purge” goals, the day finally arrived. No matter how much is tossed, donated, left at the curb the night before trash day, or loaded with kitty litter so it can be thrown out with the normal trash (mostly paint), the day before packing was full of surprises. The box of photo albums hidden behind clothes in the closet is an example of little things that threw our box count off. Fortunately, Home Depot and Lowes both got some of our business.

On moving day, the crew arrived at 9:00ish. (I was out making a box run when they arrived.) They had an indoor and outside crew. (Think “tear-down and load furniture” crew and a “load boxes from the garage” crew.) Labels were slapped on everything, and the Tetris began. We had to do some last-minute shuffling of items to accommodate the “no chemicals or perishable foods” rule. Once this was done, we were pretty confident we could make everything fit in the two cars. (The van was already packed to the rim. The Camry was the overflow vehicle.) After a Sonic run to get everyone drinks somewhere at the midpoint of the loading, the “goodbye” was all that remained.

This house was where family, exchange students, hockey players, and a few random others ate pizza and carnitas. It was a happy place with a swimming pool and quirks only an inhabitant could appreciate. Yet, it was a place of SO MANY memories. We are confident new memories and adventures await us in that “state up North.” (Our previous state was Ohio, where the “state up North” has a much more negative connotation.)

Jump ahead 5 hours…

My wife and I both enjoyed our separate feast on the way up. (She did the Chick, and I did the Arby’s “4 for $10” special.) The unloading time was half of the packing time. Things would have stretched out if the crew had been better at putting boxes where they were supposed to go. However, because we still under-purged, there were more boxes than floor space. The garage became a 50+ box pileup.

Two days into the future (Thanksgiving morning), most boxes/containers seemed to have survived their encounter with the OK state line. My desk was on life support (dumb particle board) before we left Texas. It was an unfortunate casualty. We haven’t found the lamps yet. Except for the wall “ding” and the usual mishaps, the move to Sooner-land crawls forward. May we make it a home and avoid any of the windy mischief that visits this part of the world!!

**Note: Apparently, moving truck drivers can only be on the “clock” for 14 hours in a row. Then, they need to be off the road for 10 hours before they can drive again.

Trash Days Prior To A Move

When you are preparing to move with 33 years of marriage and 4 grown kids who have moved out of the house, trash days are like holidays. How? The days leading up to that day are full of preparation and excitement. I cheer on my wife. I set unreachable goals, and I count the number of trash days leading up to the move. All normal behavior, right?

When the move was a “maybe” or “eventually”, the pace was much more casual. As the switch flipped into the “yes” column, the strategy changed. No longer was I content to create a bag or two of trash per week. The pace was accelerated and the goals were not limited. Based on my desire to stay ahead, the goals were immediately raised as soon as they were reached. If we had 6 bags of trash for Tuesday’s trash day, I would start campaigning for one more. (If 7 was reached, I would raise it again.)

With two trash days per week, consistency has been a problem. The weekend efforts allow us to have a handful or more bags on Tuesday. The Friday pick up day is limited to big items or stuff where sorting isn’t necessary. Some of my old work stuff was not patiently explored. It was dumped into trash bags with no regard to specific value. “If it is over 10 years old and in a box that was part of our previous move, then it is dead to me.” Maybe a little over-dramatic, but a pre-moving purge is not for the overly-sentimental.

My wife is charged with the sentimental choices. If the kids might like it, she puts it in a group chat for them to comment on. If none of them like it and it seems too valuable to throw out, it is posted on the local gifting exchange. This has caused a stream of strange individuals creeping towards and front door to acquire their “one level above trash” item. (They are placed outside the front door. Our interaction is typically limited to watching them park in front of our mailbox and rapidly slink up the sidewalk. One incident was especially funny. A china cabinet we had no use for was gifted, but the husband picked up a dresser instead. Dutifully, the husband returned and made the swap.) Granted, Goodwill may be the ultimate home for some of these items. That way, the item might still be sent to the trash but our consciouses will be clear.

As we swing into the final week before the trucks show up, a few key areas of the house designated as “kid” areas have been reserved. After our daughters arrive today and tomorrow for our early Thanksgiving this weekend, they have been given the request to make their keep/throwout decisions by Thursday evening. That way, I can make sure all bags of trash can be ready for pickup by 8:00. And, if any trash is found buried in one of the remote secret passageways of our earthly castle, I can still get it out on moving day, Tuesday, next week.

A Daughter’s Advice

As I got up early Sunday morning to make sure I got my walk in before church, a trip to the garage to get a new coffee creamer was accompanied by scampering. This wasn’t my scampering. Critters were sharing the garage space with me. One of them charged me while wielding a scythe, which I conveniently dodged. The gauntlet was thrown down. The second “Man v Rat” challenge had been issued.

After lunch and an annoying computer project, I made it to Home Depot. The glue traps were more expense than when the last challenge was issued, but it was still a tool I trusted. After tracking evidence (read this as rat feces) of the rat’s favorite haunts, I strategically placed the glue traps. I was careful to wear gloves to ensure I didn’t leave a nasal contamination on any of the traps.

I must have done a good job placing the traps. By dinner time, two rats were wrestling to escape one of my cleverly-placed traps. My wife said, “Deal with them in the morning.” My daughter’s text reply was, “It is cruel to let them suffer.” Since I wanted to avoid the issue, my wife’s words were much more palatable than my daughter’s.

When morning arrived, I waited several more hours before cleaning up the traps. When I first awoke, I noticed the garage had no sounds of rats attempting to escape a trap. I thought, “I know I didn’t do right by the rodents, but I will get it cleaned up soon.”

Imagine my surprise when the “captured” rodent trap had moved. I moved miscellaneous garage “furniture” to find the trap, which was not immediately visible. Following this shock, I found that one of the other traps had also moved locations. Dismissing the idea of a king rat seeking vengeance on those who would attack his subjects, I took a more logical approach. The trap behind the trash can had an actively mobile victim. The other trap had been flipped over and was now victimless. (e.g., the earlier captives had escaped)

I did what was necessary on the “active” trap and kicked myself for my laziness the night before. If I had taken my daughter’s advice, the garage would have had three fewer rats compared to just one. Now, wearing my homeowner hat, my ability to be “rodent” merciful is gone. Sorry to those vermin who find my remaining glue traps. Your end will be swift.

Walmart Drones On

Yes, that is a drone you are seeing. The left is what I pulled out of the sky while dodging sunshine. The right is what it looks like closeup.

Yes, the Walmart drone has come to my neighborhood. As I was in the backyard earlier this week, I heard this buzzing noise. As I look in the direction of the sound, I see the drone rising from the neighbor’s yard. As soon as it reaches the proper height, it heads North to the cage in the Walmart parking lot. I am unlikely to ever use it myself. Yet, it would be an interesting experience.

Paper Jam At The Library

Before I tell the story, I should explain the title. Where I live, the state offices and city offices are on a different voting schedule. Voting for the state offices involves a trip to the local courthouse. To vote for the city offices, we go to the library. This is where my tale begins…

As I planned my errands today, I slipped the postcard into my pocket that suggested who I should vote for. When I showed up at the library, I waved my postcard in front of the people who were maintaining the proper distance from the front door. Yet, somehow, it was unavoidable to get into the library without passing them.

As I walked up, I could clearly see there was no line. That, combined with the postcard in my pocket, should get me out of there very quickly. After checking in and loading my ballot, I punched up and reviewed my voting choices. There was nothing left to do but push [PRINT]. This involved my voting choices being transferred to the ballot. After printing my choices, I was supposed to take the ballot and go to the final location to have it scanned in.

This is where today’s experience was unique. When the ballot was printed, it had a paper jam. It scrunched up like you have possibly experienced with your home printer.

After a poll worker came to my location, her first question was, “Can I touch your ballot?”

“Of course. I realize you want to protect my privacy. It’s no problem,” I said.

She thanked me for being understanding before she became the “voting machine whisperer.” She boxed out the voting machine after she ejected the mostly intact page.

“I will guard the machine until you get the page scanned in. If we have to print another one, I won’t let anyone use it.” Knowing the importance poll workers put on the integrity of the voting process, I knew no one would challenge her.

The ballot was scanned into the final machine smoothly, and I gave the enthusiastic poll worker a thumbs-up. I applaud her commitment. While not intentional, I am glad I could give her day a little variety. 🙂

Burning My Face Off

The picture just looks like rosy cheeks. The cracking skin and uncharacteristic hat scream of something else. The evidence smells of advice from a dermatologist. And, yes, you would be on the right track.

After visiting the dermatologist for several years annually, the visits bore fruit last fall. (Not happily born, but it was present nonetheless.) There was a small spot on my shoulder that was easily and almost painlessly removed. Yes, it did hurt. It hurt my dream of living forever more. The cancer was one of many strong arguments that confirmed I won’t be on this planet forever.

So, when I had another dermatology appointment 6 months later (2 weeks ago), I was hopeful it would be a quick body scan followed by a thumbs up. It wasn’t a thumbs down, but it did have a “…maybe you should consider.” Apparently, I had some pre-cancerous “stuff” on my face. I could ride it out and see if any of it graduated to real cancer, or I could apply this cream for 5 days. Being a cautious guy, I took the “short-term pain for long-term gain” approach. I only have a few regrets:

  • My face feels like it is cracking when I scrunch it up. Nothing a little shiny Vaseline won’t help.
  • Fortunately, people will never say anything in public about your shiny face. But, I am convinced they notice the Vaseline glistening off your face.
  • I was told to apply the cream to my forehead, temples, and the top of my ears. These 3 were not the source of emotional trauma. The lateral cheeks are where the redness/sunburn leaped off my face and into the eyes of everyone I encountered. An incredibly humbling location was the corner of my nose to the corresponding corner of my lip. It was a bright red, and to fulfill the sunburn warning I was given, these locations thrived on peeling.
  • The hockey games we attended were low lighting, but I was still convinced every conversation had the other party’s eyes riveted to my scorched face. The Brahmas baseball hat could not cover my whole face. The experience was very reminiscent of going through puberty and the challenges of unexpected acne.
  • The hat I am wearing in the image is my Outback Hat. It may not be what they wear in Australia, but in my mind, this hat style is tied to that continent. This hat has become my new companion as I continue to take my walks and limit sun exposure.
  • The humorous explanation was, “My wife’s superpower is her X-ray vision. As she has gotten older, her superpowers sometimes ‘sneak out’ without her being able to control them. She accidentally irradiated my face. Fortunately, my eyes were closed when she did it.” (Yes, I have come up with better stories, but the skinburn lingers. I will be able to laugh more about it next week.)

The Wizards Of Bob Evans

The purpose of our traveling was to get to a family wedding in Ohio. Since Bob Evans is not in Texas (I think the mashed potatoes and sausage may be in the grocery store), we usually have at least one meal there while visiting.

This trip, it was Saturday breakfast. In complete tourist fashion, I had to chat with the wizards from down on the farm. They had no interesting stories about quidditching or spellcasting. They quickly told me they were Christians and like eating pancakes while wearing pointy hats. Or, was it something to do with putting pancakes on their heads and letting their hats keep them warm? Whatever the true story, they were gracious enough to pose for a picture for this relocated Ohioan. (One of them was too shy to pose. 🙂 )