Food from the Twilight Zone, delivered to your door.

I’m really confused. About a week ago I placed my first-ever order with Schwan’s online for home delivery of their frozen prepared food, figuring I’d try half a dozen different things that got the best reviews. Schwan’s has been around for centuries. I remember seeing their trucks years ago when I lived in Chicago and Michigan, and I see them all the time driving around Dallas and the suburbs. So I place a nice order online at Schwans.com and they confirm everything by email with a delivery date of Monday, January 25. I mark my calendar. So far, so good.

Earlier tonight I’m stretched out on the sofa watching a lousy Kay Francis movie on TV and I hear someone pounding on my front door. I don’t get up because I never answer the door at night if I’m not expecting anybody, and it’s already 7:30 p.m. and pitch black outside. Then the doorbell rings three times. I still don’t get up. After I hear a truck drive off I figure it could be a late UPS delivery or a present from a grateful Howdygram fan, so I open the door and find a Schwan’s catalog with a note: SORRY YOU MISSED YOUR DELIVERY. PLEASE CALL ME. The driver’s name is Gary and his number is on the note.

The plot thickens. Instead of calling the driver I decide to call Schwan’s national 800 number to talk to a customer service representative. Now here’s where the Twilight Zone thing starts. I get a rep named Barbara, who says she doesn’t know why a driver would knock on my door today because I’m not scheduled for home delivery until January 20. When I tell her my email confirmation said January 25, she replies: “You really can’t go by that. We have trucks in your area all the time. Your delivery date is supposed to be January 20.” I explain that I need to know for sure when the driver is coming because otherwise I won’t answer the door after dark. To make sure she doesn’t think I’m too weird I ask her to add two half-gallons of ice cream to my order (Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough for Sam and sugar-free Chocolate for me).

Minutes after I hang up with Barbara I get a call from Gary, my Schwan’s delivery guy. He tells me to forget everything Barbara told me because she’s a pathological liar who’s wanted by the FBI and is possibly an illegal alien. (Okay, maybe he didn’t exactly phrase it that way.) My delivery date is NOT January 20, and it’s not January 25, either ... he’ll actually be back first thing in the morning on Saturday with my entire order, including the ice cream I just added by phone, and if I want more stuff besides that, like Buffalo Chicken Egg Rolls, Miniature Pepperoni Pizzas or other greasy appetizers for the Cowboys playoff game on TV, he’ll probably have it on the truck.

Remember the good old days when people bought food in a grocery store and the Twilight Zone didn’t offer home delivery? Trust me, if Gary looks like Rod Serling I’m making Sam open the door. Thank you for reading this.