One of the deliveries I made today was some pharmaceuticals and medical supplies. (We do a lot of these; taking bundled medical supplies from the independent provider to the patient's home.) The patient lives outside a small town about 30 miles south of the city. Since I was coming from the north, this meant it was almost an hour's drive for me. Oh well. That's a courier's life.
I couldn't tell from the initial map my satnav displayed where the final location was, so I was mildly surprised when it had me keep driving, and keep driving. Only mildly, though; I may be in a metro area of 5 million people, but there's plenty of open land farther out.
I finally ended up on the correct road and started looking for the house number. After I had gone a mile past it's supposed location without finding it, I turned around and tried again. Even with a better idea of where it should be, though, I still couldn't find it.
Fortunately, there was a contact number given in the job, although my previous attempts to call and let them know I was on my way had just given me a busy signal.
This time, though, the phone call went through. The man on the other end told me to come back the way I originally came, and look for a big black fence on my left with a stone gate. I remembered seeing the fence and the gate, but I brushed it off as being a farm, or a mansion, or both.
As it turns out, I was right… it was a mansion, and also a farm. The driveway was about a quarter-mile long, and edged with pavers. There was a tiny pond on one side, which fed into a stream that crossed the driveway; rather than a bridge, though, you have to actually ford the stream. Heaven help anyone in a low-slung sports car, because their bumpers would get stuck on the edges of the ford.
I parked and brought the delivery to the front door, which had an iron gate in front of it; I had to reach through the gate to get at the latch. I was pretty sure that was the intention, though, given that the doorbell-intercom was located behind it. Except that the button was missing, leaving two exposed wires. Touching them together didn't seem to do anything, so I knocked.
Nobody answered, and after knocking again, I started to wonder if I was at the wrong building; maybe I should have taken the other fork in the driveway? But then the patient showed up, creeping along using a walker.
As I was having him sign the paperwork (most of our medical deliveries come with several copies of paperwork from the medical supplier, in addition to my own delivery manifest), another car pulled up, and a nurse got out. I decided I should wait for her to come in before leaving, just to make sure everything was settled and I had done everything I possibly could.
As the man and I talked, the subject of my hometown came up, and he mentioned that he owns a large shopping center in my hometown. I know that shopping center; I went there a couple of times a year to shop, as well as every time I went to the movies. He owns it. This is not someone I expected to meet.
…Actually, I hate that shopping center; it's on the opposite side of town from my home, so it's a bit of a trek. Worse than that, it's what's called a "power centre"; there are a lot of big anchor stores, but they're not connected; you have to drive from one to the other even if they're practically right next to each other. Imagine a strip mall, only the strip is broken in to half a dozen small strips and distributed across as big a distance as possible. The traffic is also terrible, as it's quite crowded and there are only a few small roads into the centre.
I refrained from telling him any of that, though.
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