Gaiz,
Here's the issue I have with the convenience of working in a food Mecca that is Ann Arbor; most any meal you're craving can be delivered to your 'front door'. Brendon was hangry and he suggested Jimmy Johns; something that could easily be delivered to the hospital just before I left for home. Oh, husband what good ideas you have! These subs were going to be absolutely scrumptious companions for our final episode of Making a Murderer (soooooo many thoughts and feelings btw).
11:15p rolls around and I get the much anticipated confirmation food-mail, I mean e-mail. Good job again, husband! You put the delivery time for 11:45p-12:00a which will give me the perfect amount of time to give report to the midnight clerk and head downstairs.
Bingo bango. Problems in paradise. Since I rotate desks every shift, the number Brendon put on the order was my cell phone versus a number to the hospital.
1. The driver calls my cell phone to let me know he's outside.
2. It's 11:32p.
3. I don't have relief.
4. I am in the middle of work.
5. I can't leave my desk.
6. I'm actively arguing with a deliver driver on my cell phone at my desk. (Just kidding, boss)
Here's where the spoiled princess syndrome comes to the surface. If I place an order for 6:45p delivery at 5p because my 30 minute lunch starts at 6:40p, I expect that you will arrive on time. When an order is placed for 11:45p because I will not physically be able to meet you for my late night calories until, I don't expect you to show up 12-28 minutes early!
Sure, I love when my delicious, probably crack-laden sandwich arrives early and not hours behind schedule but damn! Be cool, Jimmy Johns! I can't even be happy about your prompt delivery because I'm so pissed that I need to try and meet you without getting fired for leaving my post early.
Luckily my midnighter came shortly thereafter and John Doe delivery driver was still waiting with a Club Lulu just for me which allowed me to call down a bit. Then the torture of driving 25 minutes home.
Full and sleepy,
Leia
