The Donkey Express
For the past few years a friend and I have employed a system for transporting goods that we like to call the “Donkey Express.”
The Donkey Express is a system by which our husbands, who conveniently share an office, are used as mules to transport goods back and forth between us. For example, if she needs to borrow a dress for a party Friday night, on Tuesday, I will send a selection to the office with my husband and he will then pass the goods to her husband who will drive them home and put them in her hands. Simple, right? Both convenient and cost effective. For busy working mothers this is pure genius.
As the saying goes, you get what you pay for. Where the Donkey Express excels in terms of cost effectiveness, it tends to rate low in performance. Often the freight will sit in the car for a week or two on the sender’s side, and more often it will remain on the docks in the office until one of us calls looking for it.
Here at home we employ a secondary system for items that require shipment to locations off the island. This branch of the Donkey Express is wholly owned and operated by Papa. This system requires that I pre-package the parcel and leave it by the front door with a large, clearly written sticky note attached. This note contains instruction for delivery as well as the senders full name and address.
Yesterday I requested a package be returned to Zappos by way of the Postall on Aquidneck Avenue. The items were neatly packaged, return shipping label provided in the box, sitting by the door ready to go. I contacted Papa, made my request and returned to my day.
This morning Papa and I were in the car heading to an appointment in the city when I noticed the Zappos box in my back seat. Without thinking, I had picked it up myself the day before and put it in my own car.
“Dad, remember that box I asked you to return? Here it is. When we get home I’ll put it in your car.”
“The box? I mailed that box.”
“You didn’t Dad. It’s right here.”
“Well I mailed something.”
“What box did you mail Dad?”
“I mailed that big box that was on the dining room table. It had some sort of nets in it? I was really hard to get it to my car with my cane. Boy was it heavy! It barely fit in my sports car. I had to put it in the front seat. And it was funny. It had no mailing slip in it. So I found the receipt in it and used that address”
“Dad you mailed a $300 box of craft supplies, that I just hauled 600 miles home in the back of my van, to an unknowing woman who works in a tin warehouse on a dirt road in Wanchese, NC.”
“yeah. I know. I have the receipt right here.”