You all know its nutso around here but sometimes things get so weird that I honestly think I've been transported into a Seinfeld episode. Well last night was one of those times and I kid you not I was looking around for the hidden camera in case I was being punked.
It started out with a phone call from Ken's dad. He's a wonderful, sweet man with a heavy European accent that only adds to the flavor of this story. Basically he's calling to tell us that he's disappointed in us and he doesn't understand how we could do 'this' to Ken's dear old uncle. "He was just trying to do something nice for you and you go and break his heart- how could you do such a thing? He's an old man, you know."
Great. Now I'm in trouble for doing things I didn't even know I did. Of course what soon unfolds is a story of love, rejection, confusion, accusation and frustration. All regarding fruit no less.
Apparently Ken's sweet old uncle decided to send us one of the ginormous boxes of fruit from sunny old Florida. But it seems as though he sent the coffin-o-fruit to Ken's old address where it was deemed 'undeliverable' and promptly returned to not so sunny Tennesse from whence it came. Cue the notification to the Uncle that said Nephew has 'refused' the delivery. You can see where this is going. . . anyway once we explained to Ken's dad that the problem was the wrong address and that we'd take care of it in the morning the second layer of irony kicked in.
Apparently the fruit company is none too happy with these sort of things and somewhere there are about 30 grapefruits threatening to go bad so they're on the case like Miami Vice. No sooner did we hang up with Ken's dad then the phone was ringing again from the Fruit folks. They called 2 more times last night and again at 7:30 this morning. And by the way, they're not at all sweet and humble like the orange growers on those tv commercials for the juice. Maybe it's because they're not really in sunny Florida at all but they're just mean. Like Ken-moved-on-purpose-to-avoid-their-delivery kind of mean. So now it seems that they will be calling us on a regular basis until either a) the fruit in question arrives or b) we fear for our lives and lie about the delivery saying we're enjoying it this very second so they'll stop harassing us.
Honestly, I don't even want the damn fruit anymore but I do wish to get off of this crazy ride. Driver this is my stop!