I used to laugh at all the Amazon packages I’d see sitting daily in the lobby of my apartment building waiting to be claimed. “Who’s buying all that shit?” I’d say as I passed through the lobby to my own apartment.
Well... Since March, with Covid and quarantining, I confess that I am now one of those people buying “all that shit.”
The Amazon buying experience has filled a void in my life, a need to feel like I’m part of the world, the shopping world, the functioning world, a world where a click of the “buy now” button eases loneliness.
Usually, it’s late at night when I do my shopping.
There’s something about the darkness, a glass of wine (or two), and the silence surrounding me that makes me itchy to purchase. The immediate tingle of pressing “buy now” is something that keeps me coming back for more. It’s my drug, my late-night addiction that needs to be fed.
On arrival day, I’m giddy with shopper’s delight knowing that “8 stops away” is my purchase. Sometimes I don’t remember what the item is, but that doesn’t matter, does it? It’s all about the thrill, the “high” of delivery.
When the tracking indicates the truck is in front of the building, I tippy-toe to the window to make sure it’s there. At this point, the “package excitement” is much too difficult to conceal and I make my way to the lobby...
Doing my best nonchalant walk, I get to the lobby the same time as the driver and I say something like “For me? Great timing. I was just heading out." The driver gives me that look that says “this always happens with you, you’re full of shit” but plays along, and hands me my package.
Once inside I rip it open like it’s a gift from Santa.
As the afterglow of opening a new package subsides, the night sets in and I pour the wine and settle in at my desk...
Purchase. Track. Receive. Repeat.
Eventually, I anticipate having so much stuff that I’ll have a yard sale to sell “all that shit” I purchased during Covid.
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