Amazon, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. For starters, a case of a discontinued flavor of Pop Chips, yoga socks, a meditation CD (which I can’t do because my dog barks at me the entire time), a Zoodle maker that I saw on a cooking show, a new cell phone case that was half the price of the store version, various forms of makeup and a damn fine skin elixir that I apologize to no one for.
This was all in one week. I was screwed when I signed up for the “one click” option and fell further down the rabbit hole with the option of becoming a Prime member. Prime member pricing? CLICK. Free shipping? CLICK. I can have it in two days if I order in the next 6 hrs? CLICK and CLICK. Can’t find it in stores? Amazon will have it. Don’t want to do without your favorite flavor of Pop Chips? No need to suffer.
As my ship crashes into the rocks and my bank account dwindles, I fantasize about how convenient it would be if the proposed Amazon drones could deliver groceries, with tiny balloons so as to not crush the cereal upon impact. M& M’s would float from the sky. My yard would be riddled with boxes of bread and cheeses. I would occasionally order something for the dog and the beauty is he’d be home to receive it. My air space would need an air traffic controller. There will be limitless opportunities for my shopping convenience.
Then I look at Zach’s face after yet another package arrives, this time a book, or was it coffee? Either way my anonymous shopping has been cut short. The drones are over before they started. There will be no Caesar Salad kit falling from the sky or any more chips coming in the mail. Heavy, heavy sanctions have been implemented in my air space and on my credit card. I will only order things I need. Check. I will not order cases of chips. Check. I will not use Amazon to avoid people and places. Check. I’m recovering slowly. I’ve already re-routed my next package to the office. Baby steps.