Our home care company, the nice folks who send us the Eldest's clotting factor and then charge oodles skidoodles of money for it (to the insurance company, who is understandably grumpy and less nice), use a courier service. Why? Dunno.
In fact, I kind of miss the UPS guy who would deliver our factor when we had the other h.c.co. - friendly guy, and he always offered to carry the packages in for me. Not that I needed him to - big huge boxes, mostly filled with packing material and ice packs - but it was nice.
So, a courier service. Mostly older guys, making a little extra cash in their semi-retirement, and they are really nice to the boys. I'm a little embarrassed about the couriers, since it somehow speaks luxury and unecessary expense, so I'm a little awkward with them. But that changed one day when one of the guys noticed me telling the Eldest, your box is here! He paused, leaned down and said, oh, it's for you? Do you want to sign for it?
Grinning ear to ear, the Eldest carefully printed his name on the reciept. And so it began.
I called the pharmacy, to let them know that what was happening, and made it clear that I thought this a significant thing. This is the kid's meds, and he is taking ownership of them in this small way. I offered to sign also, if needed.
Two weeks ago, a new courier showed up with our box. I brought the boys downstairs, and we opened the door. The Eldest reached for the reciept, but the man pulled back.
I've got to have a legal signature on this, from an adult over the age of 18, he told us.
That's fine, I replied. The kid'll sign and I'll sign under him.
The man stiffened. No, I need a legal signature.
I paused, and looked at him. If you listen to me, I'll explain.
Are you refusing to give me a legal signature? he asked.
Are you going to listen to me? I responded, astonished and testy.
That's it. He turned away. I'm going to tell the office that the package was undeliverable.
Off he went, an angry man with about $6,000 of medicine in his arms. Shaking my head, I went inside and made a phone call to the horrified pharmacist. Two hours later, another courier was on my doorstep, apologetic and baffled. Apparently, after the courier had stomped off, he'd refused to answer cell, radio or home phone number.
Admittedly, I was very generous about the whole thing in the face of the h.c.co's and couriers' apologies. I could afford to be: I had just shown the Eldest how to stand one's ground, and when to use firmness over fury. If only I could remember that when the Eldest himself is pushing my buttons, so I suppose I should be grateful to the angry courier for letting me put on my little advocate mama show.
Thanks, dude. Now for heaven's sake, take a valium.