They were chocolate chips cookies, and they were made with a whole lot of love, a lot of chocolate and just a splash of marijuana.
I paid extra to have them overnighted because, after all, I did not want them to go stale. It was important that the cookies arrive as fresh as possible so that they retained all of their cookie goodness.
The next day, I called my brother to see if his cookies had arrived. "What cookies?" he responded.
"Are you being coy, or do you really have no cookies from me?" I'd asked.
"I really have no cookies," he'd said.
Upon calling the next day, I found that, again, he was cookie-less. And so, like any good sister, I used the tracking number I had been given to try to find out where his cookies were.
According to the website, someone had attempted to deliver my cookies but had found that the package had been addressed incorrectly.
The package was addressed both very clearly in marker on the centre of its front, as well as on a sticker thing put on after I paid for delivery. I can assure you that the address was correct both of these places.
Regardless, the website said my package was returning to the Ottawa depot to be readdressed and then would go out for delivery the following day. Two days later, however, the package was still not in my brother's hands and, instead, according to the website it was on its way to Brampton.
Of course. Mississauga. Why not?
And Mississauga is where that package stayed, apparently, for a day before heading back towards Ottawa, where the website stated it was simply waiting at the warehouse.
Only here is the thing, Internet: it was not waiting at the warehouse. When I called Canada Post to figure out what the hell had happened to my package, they informed me that it had been destroyed because they had been unable to deliver it.
"What do you mean that it has been destroyed? Why would you destroy it?" I'd questioned. I did not listen to their answer, but it amounted to claiming that they did not know what to do with the package once they had determined it "undeliverable."
"What is the return address for? Is that not what it is for? As I paid for express shipping and had to give you all of my information, you very clearly had a return address."
Do you know what I think happened, Internet? I think someone ate those cookies. I declared the content of the package to be cookies and I think someone at Canada Post got hungry.
If that is what did happen, I hope they at all of the cookies at once and freaked the fuck out when the drugs kicked in.
About three weeks later, Canada Post contacted me to inquire about the value of my package. They wanted to send me a cheque to reimburse me for the costs I had incurred trying to be a great big sister.