One of the tricks, I’ve mentioned before, for getting around accessing books I can’t afford, is the used book market. Now Amazon is probably just about as bad for small business as Walmart is, but it does seem to have its logistics down. (Most of the time, anyway. Early in the fall I ordered some horror movie DVDs. One of them was out of stock and Amazon eventually sent me a notice that it was lost in shipping. Would I like another, at no extra charge? Shipped to the same address? Of course I said “Yes!” But they shipped it to my mother instead. Most of us are probably embarrassed about what we watch and don’t want our mothers to know. In any case, she had it forwarded on and I received it a mere two months after ordering it.) They also let you track it.
If, however, you buy used books from Amazon, you may need to go with a separate vendor’s shipping. (I tend to use BookFinder.com, but lately it’s been routing me back to Amazon.) So it was I ordered something with a projected delivery date of October 25–29. Not too bad. It’s not like I need it for a book I’m writing or anything. I was cheered, then, when on October 14 it was tracked to Secaucus, New Jersey. I used to go through Secaucus every day on the bus. Twice. Surely I would have my cheap source before the 25th! But my package likes Secaucus, apparently. Once it got there every day the USPS tracking system assured me it hadn’t moved at all. “You signed up for delivery on October 25–29 didn’t you? Well, you’ll get it then. Perhaps.” Wouldn’t it be nice if shipping had the option of “Your package is pretty close, do you want to collect it yourself?” Then on the 22nd I learned it was in Glendale Heights, Illinois. It arrived on the 25th.
Why do I write these things? (This isn’t the first time, young man!) It’s because I think they’re funny. To me, a society that has lost its heart to technology has to be ready for some laughs now and again. (Some of my critics think I’m complaining; I guess I need more irony in my diet.) Life during a pandemic has become one of having stuff shipped. From last year’s toilet paper from China to my current academic book that’s just too expensive to buy new, I sit with my ear cocked for the Amazon footstep on my front porch. And occasionally getting into my car to drive to a distant post office just because, well, it’s easier for me to find them than for them to find me.