Thursday, October 1st, 2020

My cellphone rings while I’m at work. I don’t know who it is. The same number called me six times on Tuesday while I was in the shower, as well as once yesterday. I finally answer. It isn’t spam. It’s the delivery guy with the package from Amazon. He speaks in rapid Hebrew. I struggle to respond. Words that I otherwise know disappear under pressure: gate, office, mailbox. He finally says “Hey, don’t panic, man, I can do English.” That’s a relief. I talk him through where to leave the package. The house is a custom-built side-by-side duplex with two nearly identical gates. I ask him to drop the package behind the fence, below the mailbox. I know the contents aren’t fragile. “OK, by the green mailbox?” I have no idea if our mailbox is green. I have a terrible memory for colors. He leaves the package. When I get home, it isn’t there. I use the flashlight on my phone to see better in the dark. Nothing. And the mailbox isn’t green. I decide not to worry for another day or so. In the morning, when I head out to work, it’s on the steps to my door. My guess is that the delivery guy dropped it at the other gate. The folks there probably saw it and brought it to my landlord (their brother in law) who put it there for me. It all works out. Maybe when I get home I’ll be awake enough to open it.