In Which I Buy a Hot Tub, Eagerly Await Its Glorious Arrival. And The Universe Says Nah.

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.

I wasn’t.

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.

I waited.

“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.

*Screams existentially.*

*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.

3 thoughts on “In Which I Buy a Hot Tub, Eagerly Await Its Glorious Arrival. And The Universe Says Nah.

  1. Chris says:

    Wow. That’s rough. (Insert motivational quote here)
    Maybe the universe is just testing you to see how you react.
    I used to come to this site to read the beach vacation posts because they reminded me so much of my summers at Rehoboth beach when I was growing up. Some of the posts and pictures were uncanny how similar they were to my past experiences. They really brought back a lot of great memories that at some point had been packed up and put in storage to make room for the “You need to act like an adult now” memories.
    Then I started reading all of your other posts, and while I did really like the posts with lots of pictures, I find your writing clever, very down to earth, and in an odd way comforting. I follow your blog through Feedly and am always genuinely excited to see a new post pop up in my feed.
    Long story short, that hot tub was probably garbage and the universe is protecting you by subtly hinting that through lost mail, bad customer service, and rejection.
    Finally, I miss my Mom mom too. (Mom mom and Pop pop)

  2. The Surfing Pizza says:

    What a nice comment! Thank you! I told myself the same thing — that the universe was trying to SAVE ME from the hot tub. I went back to my research and drawing board, slept on it, and came back to it. I still really want this exact one. I called Wayfair back and negotiated a $630 discount for my trouble. I have to wait another month, but hopefully it will arrive this time. As for the book, another publisher just changed the status as “received” to “in progress” on Submittable. All things in good time.

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