The Delivery

Today was a very normal day for me but one thing made it particularly stressful. As I shared the tale of this moment with GB, she couldn’t help but find it hilarious. And at her request I will share it with you, my dear readers.

Today was an uneventful day because I had not planned anything in particular. Considering the fact that if I wanted to get to the mall or any other big brand store I would have to ride the bus (which entailed getting dressed, wearing makeup and wearing a bra), I decided to not leave my apartment. I woke up around 1 pm and went about with my regular schedule of eating, changing into my house clothes and sitting in front of my computer to watch Dominion.

Around 2:30 pm I heard a very loud knock at my door; a very persistent knock. I, of course, got flustered and, I shit you not, started running back and forth between my room and the living room. My brain could not comprehend why there was someone knocking at my door. I mean, I am all alone out here in NC. I have not made any friends and I have no family members near. This is not the place where everybody knows my name (Cheers reference).

The person knocked once and paused. However, my brain was bringing up scenarios so fast that that pause seemed eternal. I was pretty sure my parents were back in Puerto Rico. They told me so themselves. My brain whispered: or did they? I freaked out an inch. Then I wondered if Mr. G had come to visit. But he had no money. And my brain whispered: or does he? I freaked out two inches.

While my brain was in disarray and I was walking back and forth from my room to my living room the person knocked again. At that moment I realized that I would have to let them in. And then it hit me: what if I’m in trouble and this is the landlord? No it can’t be. I made sure to keep everything clean; I even recycled all my paper and plastics in the right bins. Then I settled for the idea that maybe it was the maintenance guy who’s going to fix something.

Then the knocking came again, more desperately and this time it was accompanied by a female voice:

Is she there? I can open the door if you want.

Then a male voice:

No, ma’am. If she’s not here I’ll come back another time.

Fuck it all, I’ll just open the door and find out. When I finally open the door I find out it’s the FedEx man with the big box my parents sent yesterday.

Ma’am, are you Wanda?

Yes.

This is for you. There’s another box for you.

I nod. And in that moment while he goes to fetch the other box I realize what a mess I am. My hair was tattered, uneven and uncombed. I was wearing a 3 XL, worn out and Clorox stained Fall Out Boy shirt with a mismatched, too-tight red shorts with ‘I love surfer boys’ written on the side. And the whammy:  I wasn’t wearing a bra.

As he brought back the other box and placed it at my door, I tried my best to try to cover my chest with one hand and my face with the other. Of course, it was all futile as I needed both hands to hold the electronic thingy and sign. Needles, to say I couldn’t look him in the eyes.

And just like that, FedEx man was gone and I was left flustered, idiot-like and feeling foolish.

Signing off, TWS

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