Strange Days

     ...make for strange doings, and I’ve just had one of each.

     About fifteen minutes ago, I had occasion to order something online. Now, this is not an unknown sort of activity. I’ll bet you’ve done it, too. Nor was the “something” particularly exotic. But while filling out the order form, I was seized by a fey mood that all but overwhelmed me.

     What caused this fey mood, I hear you ask? Nothing out of the ordinary; no more so, at least, than the item I’d ordered. It was just the box at the bottom of the order form that said “Special delivery instructions, if any.”

     It prompted the following composition:

     You’re welcome to park on the driveway. As you debark, the troll that lurks behind the arbor vitae will leap out and demand payment. However, merely roaring PLUGH! in a basso profundo will put him to flight. If you don’t possess a deep bass voice, carry silver bullion equivalent to $100 at current exchange rates.

     As you mount the steps to the porch, an ugly little dwarf will emerge from your right, throw an axe at you, curse, and scurry away. Pick up the axe and keep it with you.

     Do not approach the door directly. The cover over the spike-filled pit will give way under a weight of more than five pounds. Sidle to your left about four feet before approaching the doorbell. Press the button once only.

     If I’m home and available, I’ll come for the package; if not, simply leave it on the porch and depart quickly. My wife has a nervous condition; she tends to respond to the doorbell by firing her shotgun through the door. (You did remain to the left of the door, didn’t you?) Don’t forget about the pit. The axe is yours as a memento.

     Have a nice day.

     I contemplated those easy-to-follow delivery instructions for a moment, felt my sanity return, deleted them, and clicked Submit Order. Perhaps it was for the best.