I once received a package from an expensive sneaker company delivered to my apartment. “Hooray! They finally came!”, I might have proclaimed if I’d I actually ordered some sneakers, but I had not. And though my apartment number was listed on the shipping form, the name was someone else’s entirely. It wasn’t, like, “Steve Spagucci” or “Sleeve Spatucci”. Though I don’t remember the exact name, it was much more different than either of those fake examples I just made up.
Being an honest citizen, I called the shipping company and explained the situation. Though I feared a scam, it turned out that the package was intended for one of my neighbors. The shipper just made a slight error on the apartment number. I wasn’t mad.
For some reason - misguided altruism, maybe? - I told the shipping company that I’d hand-deliver the package to my neighbor’s apartment. And since their phone number, not mine, was listed on the form, I thought I’d be nice and call them first to set up a time, rather than just leaving it on their doorstep.
I brought the unopened package to my workplace, so I could have it with with me when I made the call - just in case they intended recipient needed me to do some kind of sneaker-verification, I suppose. I dialed their number and a young voice answered “Hello?” on the first ring (that wasn’t the weird part).
“Hey, this is Steve,” I began. “I’m your neighbor, and I had a package delivered to me that I think was meant for you. Some kind of sneakers from --”
I was cut off with: “You got that?”, which they asked kind of harshly. “When?”
“Uh... it came yesterday. It looks like they put my apartment number on the form --”
They jumped in again. “I need that. When can you get it here?”
“Well, I can come by around 5:30 or 6 tonight, if you’re going to be home,” I told this person. “What’s your name?”
“Just tell me where you are and I’ll come get the package right now. What’s your apartment number?”
The whole tone was odd. They didn’t sound appreciative, as I always imagine strangers will be when I help them out. Maybe I should stop doing that, because it never really works out in my favor.
“Yeah, but look, mister... those are really expensive sneakers that I ordered for my cousin’s birthday. I really need to have them. Why don’t you just tell me where you are and I’ll come get them?” This person, whose gender I still wasn’t able to identify, was beginning to sound desperate. I felt a surge of power.
I attempted to continue. “I’m not home now. I’m at work, so I’ll --”
“Tell me where you work, then. I’ll come get it,” Talk about being forward. I didn’t need a crazy person tracking me down at work - especially since they already lived so close to me. I said, “I’d really rather not do that. I have your apartment number. Will you be there after 5:30?”
“Yeah, but look, mister... those are really expensive sneakers that I ordered for my cousin’s birthday. I really need to have them. Why don’t you just tell me where you are and I’ll come get them?” This person, whose gender I still wasn’t able to identify, was beginning to sound desperate. I felt a surge of power.
“I understand. That’s why I called - so I could get the package back to you. But I’m not going to tell you where I work or which apartment I live in.” Who’s got the upper hand now, pal/lady?
The desperation continued. “But I... I just want to make sure you’re really going to give them back!” (technically, this person never had the package, so they shouldn’t have said “back”, but I was nice enough not to correct them).
“Yes, I understand.” I was really laying down the law now. “But think about it - why would I bother to call you to schedule a time when I could bring them to you if I wasn’t going to do it? I could have kept them all along, and you would never have known where the package went.”
There was a pause. Maybe it was logic was sinking into this person’s brain.
“Yes,” they said, finally. “Yes, I’ll be here at 5:30. Just please... please bring over that package.”
After I hung up, I started thinking that maybe I was involved in some kind of spy ring. I was tempted to open the package, but thought better of it. It could be a bomb”, I thought, “and I do not know how to disarm bombs.” Instead, I synchronized my watch with the clock on my wall (which served no purpose, but felt cool) and at the scheduled time of 5:30, I headed over to my neighbor’s apartment.
Of course my expectations were not met. After all of the abrasiveness and interrupting during our phone call, the intended recipient of the sneakers turned out to be a girl of about eight years... or her older brother. I couldn’t tell, because when I walked up, the door opened a sliver. The girl was behind the door, looking fearful of me, even though I held the package out as a peace offering (as I plan to do when the aliens arrive) and her brother stood equally silent behind her, cloaked in shadow.
“I have your package,” was all I could think to say. I believe the girl nodded, but it may have just been an animalistic grunt. Judging by the ages of these kids, and the fear they seemed to have of me, I assumed they were home alone. If that was the case, they probably shouldn’t have opened the door, or scheduled this visit from a stranger (me). Maybe they bought the sneakers via some kind of credit card scam. Ooh... I didn’t think of that until right now.
I handed over the sneaker box to the girl. She let the package fall into her hands, so as to avoid the risk of making physical contact with me. The boy watched the transaction, standing guard by his post like a pre-teen enforcer.
Maybe because they were kids, or maybe because they were so wary of my presence, they didn’t say, “Thank you”... or anything else. After standing there for many awkward seconds, I broke the silence with: “Well... there you go.” The girl nodded and smiled with only a hint of terror, then closed the door slowly, watching me as she did so.
I could see the peephole darken as I walked away - they were watching. It was slightly amusing how quickly I went from trying to save someone from unnecessary hassle to feeling like a stalker of children. Only slightly, though.
