One of our favorite things about living in the big city is that just about anything under the sun can be delivered to your doorstep. Groceries? Check. Laundry? Check. Thistle Hill Tavern? Check. Booze? Check.
Unless, of course, you’ve got an A in your address.
Sure, it’s an innocent looking character. It’s the first letter of the alphabet we learn, the grade we cram for in school, an article used millions of times within our life. For some reason, though, that single letter strikes fear and confusion into the hearts of delivery drivers across our great community.
For the past eight years, we’ve suffered through the pain of living with an A in our address. Seamless doesn’t acknowledge that your building exists. UPS and FedEx deliver your packages to the building next door. Despite the fact that you religiously order from Kinara almost every week, they still call you from the neighbor’s stoop saying that they’ve been buzzing your apartment and nobody is coming to the door.
What is this magic?
Has anyone else had to deal with the trials and tribulations of having an A in your address?