I received an e-mail notification from Amazon today. Apparently, they’re refunding my money for an order that never arrived.
The explanation given was that the item was “destroyed during transit.”
Now normally I’m not one to pry into the proprietary operations of the parcel-delivering industry. The process by which an item reaches my doorstep is really none of my concern. All I care is that I receive it.
However, in this scenario, given that the item not only didn’t arrive as expected, but was in fact outright destroyed (as the communication proclaimed), I would argue that further explanation is required.
Not so much because I care about the item itself. (It was a bottle of magnesium capsules, after all; not an irreplaceable heirloom.)
But I’m genuinely curious. How does an innocuous item meet such a ruthless and untimely demise?
The word “destroyed” carries so many horrific implications, it makes my mind start whirling. Already, I can imagine myriad possibilities:
Perhaps the truck plunged headfirst into a herd of cattle that happened to be crossing the highway, and the vehicle and all the packages it contained exploded in a fiery inferno.
It’s possible. Maybe the intersection was poorly lit, and the driver couldn’t see. Or maybe the bovines crossed at a red light, because the lead cow’s hoof was too large to push the crosswalk button.
Or maybe a rogue employee absconded with the truck and led police on a high-speed chase through a labyrinth of city streets, barreling down sidewalks and sideswiping fire hydrants. And in his desperation, he flew up an incline, thinking it was a ramp … and launched himself off the freeway and into an electronic billboard, shattering the van into a million metallic shards.
Again, I’m not a sticker for the details, but in this case, the e-mail left me hanging. My journalistic instincts have been dormant for some time (sort of like the journalism industry itself), but they tell me there’s more to the story.
After all, how does one “destroy” a package of nutritional supplements? You could drop it a million times and it wouldn’t hurt the capsules.
And even if the product gets damaged, that rarely prevents delivery. I’ve received plenty of dented boxes that looked like someone had chucked them down a flight of stairs. (I’m all for speedy service, but throwing packages down the stairs isn’t the ideal way to achieve it.)
I even got a magazine in my mailbox one time that had a boot print on it. (Of course, the cover’s headline proclaimed, “U.S. Post Office hemorrhages money; reeks of incompetency.” So there might have been some retaliation involved.)
As to the fate of my doomed delivery, I suppose I’ll never know — which is frustrating. All I can think about is my poor package, decimated by some unknown force, its ashy remains fluttering away in the wind.
In the meantime, though, I did order another bottle of magnesium capsules. Here’s hoping these ones arrive via a destruction-free delivery.
Is there an option for that? Because I’m willing to pay extra for it.