My last attempt to purchase a bike didn't go so well. I made a few more half-hearted inquiries through craigslist after that but couldn't find any decent road bikes in my price range. I did have one person reply and say that he had about 10-15 bikes at his home in Dorchester that he was selling for cheap, but I didn't particularly feel like getting robbed or buying a stolen bike. When I told my grandfather about my bike woes he offered to ship me the Nishiki road bike that my dad had kept in California. He took it to a bike store in Claremont and was told that I would have the bike delivered either last Friday or Monday.
Since the bike was being shipped UPS freight we had no tracking number. I spent all day Friday inside my apartment waiting for the front door buzzer to signify the arrival of the bike. I didn't even want to risk taking a shower in case UPS showed up. It didn't come and I was disappointed but not surprised. They had said it might not get there until Monday and I could wait three more days for the bike. Unfortunately, I had work on Monday and could only wait around the apartment until 1PM. The bike didn't come before I left for work. When I got home that evening I went to the front of my apartment building, hoping to see a UPS sticker on the front door showing that they had at least tried to deliver it. Walking up to the door I could see a familiar brown and yellow sticker. yes! They had tried to deliver it! I ripped the sticker off eagerly to see when they'd be back for another delivery attempt. Then I saw the name on the sticker. It wasn't mine. Go to hell, Josh in apartment 25. I sheepishly replaced the sticker, disappointed once again.
But before I got to my apartment another glimmer of hope appeared. Maybe they had actually delivered it. Maybe Nick had been home this afternoon and had signed for it. Maybe the bike was sitting in our hallway! I unlocked the apartment and walked inside, squinting in the darkness and searching for a large cardboard box. Nothing. Maybe Nick put the box in the living room. Again, nothing. Fuck. Ok, well this will be an exercise in patience, I thought. The bike will get here when it gets here and there's nothing I can do about it in the meantime.
My grandfather called me that evening to ask if the bike had arrived. I told him in a cheery voice that no, it hadn't, but I'm sure it will get here soon. I was trying to be very optimistic about everything when really the delay was fucking killing me inside. "I'm going to call the bike store and find out what's going on," he told me. I said not to bother, that the bike had been shipped and I'm sure they didn't have any more information than we did. It's all in UPS' hands now, no use annoying the nice people at the friendly local bike shop. My grandfather called back 15 minutes later. "They really screwed up. The bike is still sitting in the store. They forgot to ship it last week," he said. Guess it was a good thing he decided to call the store after all.
The store said they would ship it the next day (Tuesday) and that it would be sent via UPS 3-day air. UPS currently says that the package is in Shrewsbury, MA and is scheduled for delivery today. It has been 17 days since I made that first attempt to buy a bike. During that time I have spent $33.85 on the T, wasted countless hours hoping the bike would arrive, countless more hours being disappointed and an untold amount of money and time drinking beer to cope with the disappointment. The title of this post is a reference to "Waiting For Godot," a play in which the two characters wait for the mysterious Godot to arrive. Godot never appears, but I'm confident that the Nishiki will be delivered today.