tissue of lies

You have probably received them. Questions from Google asking you about a business you have recently visited.

"Does it have wheelchair access?"

"Can you buy savory portions here?"

"What was the name of the cute cashier who was overly-ingratiating?"

I must get at least ten of those a day. And, frequently, about places I have never stepped foot in; I have just Dionne Warwicked.

Earlier this month I extolled the virtues of DHL in Mexico (gimme a "d"). At least this part of Mexico. The company keeps customers informed of delivery dates and the couriers arrive as scheduled. Amazingly, even on the first delivery, the courier had no trouble finding my house.

One of my readers, George Brown, raised a very interesting Google-style question. "Do you have the ability to choose your delivery service upon placing the order? Or do both Amazons now use DHL as their default service there?"
I seem to recall a few years back that when I ordered from Amazon, I had the option of choosing a delivery carrier. But, that may be one of those self-imprinted false memories people my age love arguing about.

When I order from Amazon now, I do not get a carrier option. I learn of the carrier's name only after the order is being prepared.

When I answered George, I thought DHL might be the default carrier for this area. That is probably not true. Even though DHL has delivered the vast majority of my packages, the Mexican postal service and Estafeta have been assigned Amazon packages.

We can now add FedEx to that list.

I ordered three DVDs on 24 October. The Cheap Detective and Murder by Death -- to honor the recently-dead Neil Simon -- and Field of Dreams. That same day Amazon informed me the package had been assigned to FedEx.

There is something comforting about brand names. They do carry some gravitas. DHL with its German efficiency. FedEx with its American speed. Of course, names also bring expectations. And my not unreasonable expectation was that the package would be delivered to my door when scheduled. After all, DHL always meets that standard.

And, there I go again, telegraphing my punch. My hagiographic description of DHL was simply a prolegomenon to the not-so-perfect world of FedEx.

Now, before I pull out the peach box and mount it in moral indignation, I am fully aware of the dangers of inductive reasoning. Drawing conclusions from a narrow data base leads people to believe incorrectly that old canard that the perfect EU citizen has the organizational ability of the Italians, the flexibility of the Germans, the modesty of the French, the imagination of the Belgians, the generosity of the Dutch, and the self-confidence of the British.

And we know how that trope survives the truth meter. But something need not be true to be funny.

My one encounter with FedEx in Mexico may be no more accurate than that apocryphal EU citizen. I hope so.

Like DHL, FedEx sent me an email informing me my package would arrive on Monday. And Monday afternoon I received a telephone call from the delivery driver verifying my address. He signed off with a cheery "see you in 10 minutes." (All of this in Spanish, of course.) So good, so far.

The 10 minutes passed uneventfully. But I have lived here long enough to know that numbers are aspirational. Then an hour passed. Then two.

The telephone rang again. "What color is your house?" Gray and brown. But I sensed there was a bit of disorientation playing out on the other end of the telephone. So, I gave detailed instructions to get to the house.

I waited again. The next notice I received was from Amazon that the address did not exist or it was incorrect on the label. Back the package went to Manzanillo. Why the driver did not call again, I have no idea. Maybe he thought I had given him all the information I could.

Yesterday the DVDs were sent out again. Same routine. Email. Telephone call. What is your address? Second call. What color is your house?

I took another stab at directions using landmarks, like the giant antenna that is visible from everywhere in my neighborhood. I quickly abandoned that and asked where he was.

He was not certain. I asked if he knew where the new OXXO was located. Yes. That is where he was. I told him to wait and I would be there in 1 minute and 45 seconds.

And I was. Because temporal compliance is part of my nature.

He handed me the package, and I turned to walk away. In perfect English, he said: "I need a soda."

I had almost forgotten "soda" is one of those code words for tip in these parts. I turned around and just stared at him. The man who could not use directions to find my house twice (when DHL and Estafeta found the place the first time) and who failed to ever get it to my front door was now asking me for a tip.

Rather than saying that, I smiled, turned, and walked back to the house. There was nothing to be gained by having a customer relations improvement course on the sidewalk in front of the OXXO.

But I do have a solution. And this will answer George Brown's question more accurately than I did earlier in the month.

Because Amazon always informs me of the name of the carrier when the order is being filled, I will watch carefully for the name. If it is "FedEx," I will cancel the order. When Amazon asks why the order is being cancelled, as it always does), I will share my FedEx story.

Who knows? I may be spiting myself by reducing the number of carriers available and the next ten deliveries assigned to FedEx may be DHL-perfect. But when there are superior alternatives, there is no need to choose frustration. We have to do that far too often with political candidates.

Next Tuesday the DHL guy (I really do need to ask him his name; he knows mine) will be bringing three books (including my elusive Instant Pot concept book). I will enjoy telling him my FedEx tale.

At least, I will not have to walk somewhere in Barra de Navidad to get my order.