|
Cardboard Matryoshka by David Spicer I stopped shopping in stores years ago. I order everything from socks to refrigerators by mail. Last month I bought a clothes dryer from a new store downtown. When the box arrived a few days later, I lugged it into the living room. It seemed light, so I took an exacto knife and split the box down the middle. Inside was another box and then another inside of that one and then another box inside that box. Befuddled, I put each box back inside its larger box until the largest box was sealed again. I drove to the new store and told the clerk, a millennial playing a video game on his phone, my problem, and he breezily replied, Oh, that happens sometimes. A practical joker works in shipping. Just fill out this form and I’ll take care of it. A few days later, I received another light box, and the same events occurred as the previous time. This happened again and again before I grew frustrated and felt diminished and smaller within myself like the cardboard matryoshkas. Tell me, the kid asked, did you open the last box? No, I answered, but a dryer isn’t in the smallest box. Well, maybe we’ll be both surprised, he replied. He reopened every box and told me to open the last box the size of a small bowl. Inside, a plastic hand gave us the finger. This is definitely Monroe’s work. We fired him three days ago. Tell you what: pick out a high-end dryer, and we’ll deliver it tomorrow. I chose a candy apple red model, and the next day it sat in my utility room. I opened the round glass door and a dozen enameled, painted matryoshkas of various styles rolled around. I took them out of the dryer with a card that read in a Cyrillic script, Courtesy of Monroe. The store soon went broke. The machine worked like a dream. |
|
