Invitations, Three


Now let me tell you about receiving them. They were supposed to show up on a Friday, but of course they didnít. Then, as it turns out, Monday is a holiday so we expect them on a Tuesday.

They donít show up

We are now calling twice a day trying to figure out when theyíre coming. The clerks are, in turn, calling the manufacturer trying to figure out where the invitations are. By now, McWhorterís is apologizing and waived the "rush" fee we paid. Finally, they reach someone at the manufacturer who promises they will be in the Thursday Fedex to McWhorters.

I await McWhorters call all day. Finally, around 5pm, I call from work. Whoever I speak with explains that she canít find them and that the person who deals with invitations is apparently out to lunch. My intent had been to drive down to McWhorters, in Santa Clara, from work, in San Mateo; drop by the postal store in San Jose; and drive home up the 880 corridor.

Unfortunately, now I had to decide ... do I hang out at work, wait an undetermined amount of time (for the "lunch" break of this person to end), and possibly wait for nothing because the invitations STILL arenít there? Or should I go home and try again tomorrow.

I decided to go home.

As soon as I arrive home (about an hour and fifteen minutes later, thank you very much), I find a message on the phone machine telling me that the invitations have, indeed, arrived at McWhorters. The call also says that they have left the same message on my work voice-mail.

The message was left about ten minutes after I left work, only a few minutes after my call.

@#$%&*$@#%#%&(!!!

Now that I'm at home, instead of driving down 280 which is fast, wide, smooth, and relatively (with respect to the other freeways in the Bay Area) unclogged, Tori and I have to drive down 880 to get to McWhorter's in Santa Clara. The 880 Corridor, as it is called, is one of the Bay Area's nasty commutes.

We rush out the door.

While driving down we realize we havenít exactly figured out precisely where in San Jose the postal store is. We call Chris and Diana (my sister and her fiance) to ask them if they know where this mall is. They donít know off-hand but look at a map and give us directions.

Finally, we arrive at McWhorters and pick up the invitations.

Thankfully we also get precise directions from one of the clerks who used to work at the mall, because Chris and Diana are new to the south bay and my understanding of the eastern part of San Jose is limited so I would have ended up in the wrong part of San Jose altogether.

The clerk, in fact, gives us directions to the postal store within the Mall. It turns out this is important because, thanks to traffic and every other damn thing that has gone goofey so far, we arrive at the postal store with only ten or fifteen minutes to spare.

Phew. Finally. We have our invitations, the required postage, and stamps with which to send them.


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