(Smile while you're reading this, ok?)
Every once in awhile a person just has to complain.
Today it's my turn.
You know how there's this big cell phone craze going on? Well, I just don't get it. Could be because I've always hated making phone calls (receiving them is fine). Didn't like making them as a child, a teenager, a young mom or an anything else. My reasons are many and varied. I. Just. Don't. Like. Making. Phone. Calls.
Okay. Got that straight? :)
Well, back down on the farm, I signed-up with good ol' Bob The Milkman to deliver milk and a few other items like orange juice and cottage cheese. I'm sure you remember Bob--I even showed you his old-fashioned truck once. Anyway, at his family-run business you can either call-in your order or leave a list on your milk box (with the empty glass bottles) of items to bring the following week. You can also just give them a one-time list so they'll bring the exact same things weekly, but Tom's and my needs seem to vary too much for that option.
So after reading my I-hate-phones story, you can guess which method I chose. The any ol' scrap of paper list method. Only twice in three whole years did I forget to leave my paper note and so had to call the dairy.
But you know? In all those three years, Bob never, ever messed-up. He never forgot me. Never lost my lists. Never got confused at just what I was trying to accomplish there.
But here at Hobbit Cottage? I think Bob's son, Tom, hates me. He can't get anything right.
Twice I left paper lists for him and both times he didn't show-up the following weeks.
Now, before we moved here I thought I understood that if we failed to call or leave a note, the driver would at least show-up to take a new order if we were home at the time. If we weren't home, then we were charged $1.50 because he'd traveled there anyway.
Well, I did forget to leave a note the first week, but thought, "Hey. I'll just be here when Tom stops by and give him a list and he'll take the things from his truck." Yet uh, no. He never showed. And ok, I was all right with that. As in, note to self: always leave a note or (gulp) make a phone call, otherwise Tom won't show-up at all.
So I called my order in the next week, Tom came, then left with my list for the following Wednesday.
Except the following week he didn't show up. Argh. But I thought, "Okay. I'll just show mercy this time. Maybe he lost my list. Stuff happens."
So I had to phone-in my order again, not a big deal unless you just don't like to make unnecessary phone calls. Which I don't.
Then the next week I again left a paper list, Tom took it, and then the following week he again ignored me. Drove right by. Zoom.
Razzle frats! So then I had to again call the dairy, this time telling them whenever I left lists (as I had with Bob for three happy years), Tom didn't show up the following weeks. The woman (his mom maybe?) said she would check into it when he came in for lunch. Well, four days later she called me back and said Tom now gets it--the written lists are for the following week. He thought they were for the present one. Everything would be fine now, she promised, and if I'd give her my new list now over the phone, Tom would bring me those things then take my written list with him on Wednesday and bring those newly listed items the following week.
Finally I had hope. Finally I could stop calling the dairy and go back to the way things used to be with good ol' Never Made A Mistake Bob.
Today ol' Tom comes and leaves me only what was on my new list on the porch for next week. Meaning he must have put the cottage cheese and half-and-half back into the truck (because they weren't written on next week's list), meaning I'll have to make an extra trip to the supermarket because who can live without half-and-half in their decaf? Not me, anyway.
Sigh. Maybe this is 'just another one of those things'. Like the latest one--having my Facebook profile hacked and choosing to bail-out and not regretting that decision a bit. Almost like that verse which says something like: "What satan meant for my harm, God meant for my good."
So even though I've loved the whole nostalgia factor, and supporting a local farm, and using the glass bottles (glass being safer than plastic leaching-wise), and using fewer containers (though yes, they do get recycled), and even though I so love the convenience of having our milk delivered during our treacherous winter snowstorms, maybe, after all, this is just confirmation (or a sign, if you will) that it's time to cut the dairy loose. And just train my brain to think ahead, buy milk at the store and purchase extra milk to keep down in the basement freezer.
And maybe this is also a sign that Tom The Milkman should have gone into some different business other than the family one. :)
NancyR reminded me of something: On each written list I have always put "For _______ (the next week's date)." I guess I should do as she suggested--add FOR NEXT WEEK in large letters. Good idea. Some people just need an extra bit of help. :)