I check the gate monitor and confirm it is the usual Coles delivery guy: Joe, I think his name is. I hit the remote and watch as the gate slid smoothly aside. The truck parks in the driveway and I watch the gate close.
Four boxes of groceries, two chiller bags of perishables and a box of booze (six pinot grigio and two scotch) are deposited on the porch. I acknowledge Joe with a wave through the window. He has delivered here before and understands the drill. He smiles and waves, climbing back into his truck and waits for me to open the grill.
It is shut and I unlatch the mortice deadlock, the security chain, and the security screen, quickly moving the supplies into the hallway. Both doors are secured and I start sorting out the boxes; transferring the chiller and frozen goods first. The booze goes onto the racks in the study and the groceries I unpack onto their labelled shelves in the pantry, ensuring the new tins sit behind the existing stock, to maintain best before date order. Bottles stand separately, and I refill the labelled jars with self-raising and plain flour, cous cous, pasta, rock salt. All OK.
Everything is ticked off my list save … wait a minute. I go back into the pantry. Nope, they are not here. I upend the various empty boxes and bags. Oh hell, bugger, they have forgotten them!
I am almost out and I specifically asked Coles for two dozen. How could this happen? They did this once last year, too! I send off a curt email expressing my anger at their oversight. I demand acknowledgment and immediate delivery.
Six o’clock, and they still haven’t arrived! I retreat upstairs, to the bedroom. I am not panicking, although I am now perspiring and the fingers on my right hand are starting to drum a tattoo on the bedside table.
What if there’s a power outage during the night? Or there is a burglar or a car accident in the street and they hit the buzzer, looking for help? It’s been four hours since I emailed them: still no response or deliveries!
There is a chill in the room and I slip under the covers. My phone emits a soft ‘brrring’, presaging a text. “Sorry for the mix-up. Your order is important to us but all of our staff are busy fulfilling deliveries. We will have them on the first available truck tomorrow morning. Again, our sincere apologies. Andy”
I hunker further under the covers, my mind races, possible deadly scenarios swirl. What if … oh hell. I am shaking, sweat stings my eyes. I’m starting to panic!
I climb into the wardrobe, pushing blouses and slacks aside and find security on the shelf above the draws. Fingertips and toes establish my boundaries, a warm comforting fug: I doze.
Daylight. I shower, dress and cook raisin bread. 9 am and the gate buzzes. My AA batteries are delivered. Finally. Thank God!