When all you want is an explanation for a late coffee delivery and you get a robotic reply

Please allow me to take you back to Friday, April 5.

Whoosh!

I am at my house in Wood-Ridge, New Jersey, with plans to leave, the following morning, for my apartment in Babylon, New York.

And I am waiting. Patiently. For my coffee to arrive.

Coffee is one of those things that I buy from a certain “online marketplace” that you are likely familiar with.

I can’t tell you the name for legal reasons. Let’s just call it RainForest.com.

(Actually, we should probably call it something else, since there really is a website called RainForest.com. It sells menswear and is having a huge sale, right this minute, on men’s winter coats. I’m mentioning this because if you want to get me an early Christmas gift, I do like the Nubuck Sherpa Lined Hooded Jacket, with zipper front closures and welt pockets. It’s $99, marked down from $350. Available in russet and olive.)

But back to the coffee …

Every week or so I’m ordering more and more of the stuff. I like to mix together Folger’s Breakfast Blend and Cafe Bustelo.

The former is rather mild and pleasant. The latter boasts a “vibrant, authentic Latin flavor” and is given to astronauts so they don’t fall asleep during their lunar missions, fly past the moon and wind up lost in space.

I ordered the coffee on Wednesday and was told it would arrive on Friday. But sometime around 9 on Friday morning, I received a notice that my coffee wasn’t arriving until Saturday, before 10 p.m.

Since I planned to leave New Jersey at 11 a.m. on Saturday, I naturally became concerned.

I went to the website and tried to divert my in-transit coffee from Wood-Ridge to Babylon, but the website refused to cooperate.

So I clicked on the "help" icon, which was of no help. In desperation, I then clicked on the "I Want A Real Person To Call Me" icon and was promised that A Real Person would call me, ASAP.

Three minutes later, a robot called.

I asked, “Are you a real person?”

And the robot said, “Maybe. Are you?”

We chitchatted for a couple of minutes, but we weren’t getting anywhere, so I was promised that a REAL real person would be on the line shortly.

Eventually, a REAL real person did get on the phone. And I could tell she was real because I barely understood a word she said.

“So, anyway,” I told her, “I’m leaving tomorrow morning and my coffee is not coming until tomorrow night. I really don’t want it sitting out on my doorstep until I get back.”

I was going to be away for only four days, but I lied and said I wouldn’t be back until the day after Halloween.

I then asked what the delay was, since my coffee usually has a one-day turnaround. Sometimes, it even comes a few hours after I order it.

“This could be caused by many factors,” she said. “Have you experienced bad weather recently?”

I could tell from the question that she was most likely in the Far East or the Land Down Under or a legit rainforest, somewhere.

“Well,” I replied, “we have a had a few days of high winds, followed by a few days of torrential rains, followed by a cold snap and two earthquakes. Although, technically, it was one earthquake and one aftershock, but, really, what’s the difference?”

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I told her I did have another order that was arriving at my place in Babylon on Sunday. “So perhaps you could put the two orders together?”

She looked up the second order.

“I see you ordered the Solar Eclipse Glasses, five-pack. Is that correct? You should get them no later than Monday at 10 p.m.”

“Monday at 10 p.m.? But the eclipse is taking place on Monday at 2 p.m. My receipt said I would get them on Sunday!”

“Hopefully, Sunday, but definitely Monday by 10 p.m.”

“Are you listening to me?” I howled into the phone. “The eclipse will be over by 4 p.m. The next one is in 2045. I’ll be 90 years old. I won’t even care by then. But even if do care, do you really think I am going to want to wear 21-year-old eclipse glasses and destroy my retinas?”

“Sir, I am sorry, but I can only give you the information that I have in front of me.”

“Fine,” I replied. “And, now that you mention it, I did the same thing. I ordered them because the information in front of me said they would arrive by Sunday morning. Not Monday night!”

She was being of no help to me, so I asked her to put the robot back on.

Then, I sorta apologized.

I hated losing my temper, but I hadn’t had my coffee yet.

This article originally appeared on NorthJersey.com: Amazon Prime isn't always on time. Bill Ervolino found out the hard way