Last year, before the apocalypse really ramped up, I tried out a fruit and vegetable delivery service.
I was drawn into the glamour, man.
Life sustaining healthy food, delivered right to my doorstep from a company with a wholesome, folksy name.
I felt healthier just entering my credit card information.
I got a confirmation email which included complicated instructions on how the tubs they delivered would be retrieved. It was something like Make sure you leave your tubs on the southeast corner of your house, the second Tuesday of the month unless your last name starts with an L or a W, in which case, leave your tub under your neighbor’s carport. Unless your tub is yellow. Yellow tubs are to be burned in the back yard. Please leave video proof.
Just reading the email exhausted me, but I still had high hopes for our first delivery.
I imagined a wicker basket filled with fruits and vegetables which looked like they came from the garden of Eden. Maybe, a loaf of french bread and a small bouquet of wispy little wild flowers.
What we got was fine. I mean, fruits and vegetables delivered in one of those plastic tubs with an attached lid that folds in from the sides. Like the tubs day cares keep toys in.
Like I said, the produce looked fine, but, in reality, was no different from what I could have purchased from the grocery. For a lot less money.
I had to make a decision.
What was the benefit? Should I have healthy food delivered to me and pay ten bucks more than I should because I don’t want to drag my lazy ass to the store? So, I suspended the service after the first delivery.
I still got emails from them.
- Hey, we miss you! Are you sure you are eating healthy during these trying times?
- You’re not picking up fast food two or three times a week, are you?
- Did you order pizza again last night?
- Come back and let us bring you the food your body needs. And you don’t even have to drive any where.
- You just keep being a lazy cow and we’ll bring you some grapes.
Anyway, several months passed, maybe even a year, since I had tried the service. One day a few weeks ago, I opened an email from them. I thought, maybe, I’d just look and see what they had. Maybe, the whole garden of Eden thing was an option now.
As it were, I reactivated my account.
I didn’t really want to reactivate my account, but wanted to look at vegetables and obviously my only choice was to look at this site. There aren’t vegetables anywhere else on the internet.
I realized my mistake immediately, went to their contact page, and asked them to suspend my account. I re-opened on accident, blah blah blah and thank you.
Within hours, I got an email back saying my account was suspended again.
Yesterday, the green tub arrived.
We got blueberries, tomatoes, kale, grapes and pluots.
What the fuck?
So, I contacted the place. What the hell? I cancelled. Got the email saying I cancelled.
Because it was activated, I was responsible for that one delivery.
Are you fucking kidding me?
I would totally understand if I had loaded my virtual cart up with extras and then sent them emails just counting down the days. Oh my god, only three more days and you will be here. I can’t wait! Love you! Then, the day before the delivery, call them up and say, “Yeah….I’m not feeling it anymore.” I would totally understand their insistence that I follow through with that purchase. But all I did, was accidentally activate my account because I needed to look at vegetables and then deactivated my account immediately.
I’m just happy I didn’t get a yellow tub. And that our last name doesn’t start with an L or a W because our neighbor’s don’t even have a carport.
I guess now I have to eat kale.
That I could have gotten way cheaper by driving my lazy ass to the store. Which I don’t even need to do today because we have left over pizza from last night