In case of emergency please send chocolate and pizza


In breaking news to address what are undeniably “first-world problems,” I just received a notification on my phone, complete with a little beeping sound.

This notice was that come Halloween, consumers with a credit card and a yen for candy, can visit a dedicated website to make an emergency SOS call if their trick-or-treat sweet supply is running low. Within an hour, they will receive a backup supply of candy delivered directly to their home. The catch? You just have to live in an approved delivery area to take advantage of the offer.

Earlier this week, Domino’s announced a similar program: Domino’s Emergency Pizza. If you’re hungry on Halloween, you can dispatch an “emergency” two-topping pizza at the click of a button. This is supposed to surpass even their normal fast delivery rates. This is while supplies last and with restrictions, naturally.

Almost daily another supermarket or other retail establishment offers up the idea that for a “minimal annual fee” I can join their “club” and have whatever it is they sell delivered right to my doorstep.


I am all about anything that lessens my errand load. The only place I want to shop in person is an estate sale, antique store or thrift shop. That’s a good time.

On the other hand, I get tired just thinking about trekking through a warehouse-sized grocery or home store these days. I’ve left mega-sized grocers without key ingredients I knew I needed because they were located across the store and I didn’t have it in me to navigate the change in time zones. As such, I am DEFINITELY interested in delivery.

Thus, when enticing offers promising home delivery drop into my algorithm or inbox, I dutifully enter my DNA, details of our firstborn, my mother’s maiden name, HER DNA and so on.

All is well until I get to the zip code. This is where it always goes wrong. Inevitably a red flag — or more likely red letters — pops up on the screen: “It appears that you are located outside the delivery area. Please check back in the future for expanded service locations!”

They are always cheerful and upbeat about their inability to serve me. One site has been saying this, I kid you not, since 2009. Hope springs eternal, I guess.


Sometimes I think everyone is having every last thing delivered but us. As someone who resides in rural America, I am feeling, as the kids say, very “unseen.”

Living in the country a “far piece” from an urban area, I have never, not once, ordered DoorDash or Grubhub or FeedYourFace or whatever the restaurant delivery places are calling themselves. No one is willing to drive out to Appalachia to deliver a cheeseburger — not even for a hefty tip.

During COVID, I got used to carrying out restaurant meals, and that has been nice. It does, however, require me to put on pants and leave the house — two things I would almost always rather not do.

Generally, my philosophy is staunchly “buy local,” with the exception of certain items that I have to order online because they aren’t available at the baker, deli, farm market, gas stations or hardware store that are just minutes from our home. This is probably a sign that I really don’t need those items after all.

I do like to spoil myself sometimes though, so overpriced face creams promising to make me look younger do come by mail. No word yet if the delivery drivers are noting how youthful I look as I shuffle onto the porch in my robe and pajamas to retrieve my packages.

Ice Cream

This is not to say that we have not made some inroads. Our local Dairy Queen moved “up town” a few years ago. They added a drive-through, and, in doing so, created a monster by the name of Mr. Wonderful.

Now that delicious soft-serve delights are only two stoplights and a quick trip from home, he has become quite proficient in advocating for ice cream at all hours of the day and night. Of course, I have to go along. I wouldn’t want to let my man down.

At the very least, my need to put on shoes and ride to the calories is a little extra effort required. I am definitely dedicated to making my rounds supporting the local butcher, baker and ice cream cone maker.

Fortunately, we haven’t had a trick-or-treater at our door in the nearly three decades we have lived here. No one wants a mini Snickers bar badly enough to hike up our gravel driveway, so the lack of emergency candy and pizza delivery shouldn’t be a hardship.


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