You might recall I set out to flip thousands of dollars worth of thrift store items on eBay. The goal: buy a bitchin’ hot tub. Well, I got bored. Antsy. ADHD.
Then I got a bonus at work. My brain began searching for other income streams. When my grandmother died almost twenty years ago, she left me some money. It has been a rainy day fund. I started to think, hell, Mommom would want this. She would want me to spend what she left me on a hot tub. There’s got to be a better way to live than rifling through bags of dirty Happy Meal toys looking for a hit. It was like my soul was talking with my beloved grandmother.
I did it. I pulled the trigger on a modest plug and play tub on Wayfair. Running on a pithy 15 amps of juice, the motherfuckers on luxury pool forums would froth from their mouths to tell me what a shitty decision I made. Not going with a reputable dealer. Not going with a respected brand. Rich old man hobbyists who do shit like wet tests and upgrade every few years to the newest Porsche model in hot tubs.
But I’m not loaded. I’m a dumb writer with a day job, two small kids, my wife is the breadwinner, and I can identify a McNugget Buddy in a box of yard sale trash like a heat seeking missile. I just want to sit in a tub of hot water in my backyard and daydream. I’m not into hydrotherapy, I’m just into dreaming. Hydro-dreaming.
That was five weeks ago.
Everyday I eagerly checked the tracking online. Check email, check Twitter, check Facebook, check Wayfair tracking. Sure, they were up front saying it was going to take 4-5 weeks, but I daydreamed I might be special and chosen to get a surprise earlier delivery.
No matter, I waited patiently for my allotted delivery window. Finally it was the day, the glorious day. Tracking said it arrived in my local town. It said they would call me to arrange final delivery — and they hadn’t — and twenty four hours had passed — but cool cool, I know how businesses get busy. I called to help them out.
They put me on hold. Would it be tomorrow I would be soaking? Would they pick back up and say, actually yay, we’re coming today? Man, I’d be disappointed if I had to wait until Monday, but I would understand. Totally understand.
They picked back up. “We lost your order.”
How do you lose a hot tub? I waited for the misunderstanding. For them to look over to their left and see the gigantic acryllic beast of plumbing and insulation, and say, nevermind, here it is.
“We can order you a replacement.” I waited for them to say the words “expedited” but they were cold as a Melania Trump jacket. I don’t really care. Do you?
“It will ship on October 24th.” That’s in another month. Another 4 weeks. They didn’t even offer a discount that would make it worth my time.
I was depressed. I cancelled the order. Home Depot and Costco have less wait times. Maybe I’d revisit local dealers. Maybe I’d go back to the thrift store flipping and save up for something better. No hot tub tomorrow night. Monday. Next week. I swallowed my disappointment with good will. It’s part of life. Whatever. Total first world problem.
Then I opened my email to see a publisher had turned down my entire book.
*Laughs because the absurd sadness of each cancels out the other.*
*Listens because Mommom says shhhh, one day I’ll have my hot tub. And book. One day.*
And I’ll shout it out from rooftops, to strangers on the street, and the motherfucker pool forums: I Have Arrived.