Lesson Learned

Since we are now back in Canada, I thought I would try to surprise L by getting a tasty treat from our past which could not be mailed across the border. Specifically Abner Mennonite Summer Sausage from Pan Chancho (no direct link, but a photo tour of their new digs from some Flickr user). I surreptitiously called them one day when L stepped out and arranged to have it sent via Purolator to arrive at my new work on our Anniversary.

Good idea? Yes. Was it delivered? Yes. Do I have it? No.

Here's what happened.

Last weekend, I set it up for delivery today (Thursday). On Wednesday, I say to the person at the front desk of my building "I'm expecting a Purolator delivery tomorrow; do I have to tell anyone or do anything to get it?" I am assured that as long as my name is on the package it will come right to me, and I go on my merry way UNAWARE OF THE HORROR ABOUT TO BEFALL ME.

Thursday lunch rolls around and I still don't have it. I get in touch with someone in Shipping who tells me that no Purolator deliveries were made that morning. I panic just a bit and call Pan Chancho. The woman in charge of shipping (I think her name is Veronica. Or V-something. Again, struck by my name-remembering deficiency. Whatever it is, she is wonderful. Thank you, Ms V!) tracks the package and tells me that it was actually delivered on Wednesday and signed for by XXX (not their real name. :P). I track down XXX and find they work in...Specimen Receiving. I start to panic a little more.

I call XXX and tell him that I think he signed for a package for me. XXX sounds confused and says, "what is it?" I say "it's a whole smoked sausage." XXX goes "Oh no! I remember that! I sent that Upstairs yesterday!" I could hear the capitalization (not to mention the regret in XXX's voice) and my panic starts tap dancing centre stage. I say, "Upstairs...where?" XXX says "The food lab." I go running upstairs...to find the sausage no longer fit for human consumption.

Why? Let's just say that if you order a big smoked sausage and have it shipped to a building that also happens to test food suspected of causing food poisoning, someone will take it and stick it in a fridge with a bunch of other possibly contaminated foods.

Head hanging low, I return to my office and call Pan Chancho to let Ms V know that the mystery had been solved. I related the story to her (and her complete amazement), and she offers to send me another sausage.

For free.

So, to the staff and management of Pan Chancho: thank you. You had a loyal customer while I lived in Kingston, and you have a loyal customer in Vancouver. I will definitely order from you again.

Canada Post: you are on notice. If anything happens to my sausage this time around, there will be Words.