Yesterday I tried to coordinate with a man who refitted my husband’s custom-fit knee brace (from ACL replacement surgery last fall) for pick-up or delivery. He is in Chevy Chase, MD which is a bit of a drive for me – an excruciating distance considering Mary does not like riding in the car.
He said he could drive it to my house, but in a way that made it seem like it was a sincere hardship for him. Since Bill had originally been fitted for this brace at his doctor’s office – local to me – I thought he must make routine drives out this way, but apparently not. Bill had driven to Chevy Chase for the refitting, and I guess the original salesman was gone. Maybe Bill had explained all this and I just didn’t listen…
So, I threw in my tale of woe – having to drive 6 little children all the way the Chevy Chase. Again, he said he could drive it out to me, he supposes, again with this begrudging attitude.
So I suggested he mail it. He seemed unsure about that. “It’s in a box,” he said. Well, good, I thought. The Post Office likes that. I suggested that First Class postage would be cheaper than gas. But he told me he would have to get approval from higher ups to do that. (Heaven forbid someone have to go through such red tape.) It would be better (easier) if he drove it over, but I would have to wait until he returned from his next week’s vacation.
Personally, I would have preferred that he get it in the mail today, instead of driving it over personally in two weeks, but since I’m putting the man out so much and I doubt he would have managed to secure approval in such a short amount of time to actually spend the $10 for postage (I think this thing weighs 8 ounces – it’s super high-tech), I felt like my only choices were to wait or to drive there myself.
So, sorry, honey, it’s going to be September before you get this thing.