Like it or not, Amazon is a lifeline these days. It’s like a reliable friend—always there. Literally, always there. At your doorstep.
When there’s a new delivery, my kids go bonkers. The novelty of a new package on our stoop has not worn off. They are quick to inspect the box, announcing who it’s addressed to (99.9 % of the time it’s my wife’s name). They sometimes guess what’s inside.
“Is this our new shoes?”
The other day while watching TV, we saw an Amazon commercial. It featured a day in the life of a picker and packer. He hustled inside the giant warehouse, navigating between packages and bubble envelopes, jockeying conveyer belts, and carts.
In the end, he was back home with his wife and kids, proud after a hard day’s work serving the broader community in a time of crisis.
After the spot, my eldest son said, “I’ve always wanted to know how they do that.”
That is what Amazon does. Conditioning us to trust them day in and day out—like that reliable friend—to the point where we can’t live without them.
I’ll admit, I’m not the Amazon confidant in my household. I use the service about two or three times a year. I’ve always been able to find the items I need in stores or through other online retailers. Now, however, it’s a different story. Companies like Amazon are a vital part of our survival. Where I once chided the machine, I’m now starting to see it’s softer side. I understand now how thrilling it is to see a package at the door.
As a kid, I used the now-archaic pre-cursor to Amazon: mail order service. Living in a small town with few toy stores, the only way to keep up my Lego addiction was to send away for the sets.
Once I discovered the catalog inside one of the kits, I quickly figured out how my beloved toys could be mine once I saved my money, obtained a cashier’s check, filled out the form, and sent it to Enfield, Connecticut.
Weeks, sometimes a month or so later, there it was, my package. Oh, what a joyous day that was!
Maybe it’s simply the anticipation that I miss, or the way time slowed from the moment you saw something until the moment it was in your hands.
While I miss the analog version of on-demand, there is comfort in the arrival of that constant friend these days. But what happens if he makes you wait longer? What happens if he stops showing all together?