Trigger Warning: Cancer

Good morning my fellow anxious beans. I don't know about you, but when I get super anxious I cry. Right now I am working two jobs while attending grad school part-time, we had to put the family cat down on Monday (17 1/2 years old, it was time but still heart breaking), and I caught a rather nasty bug that's going around (just a bug, nothing that starts with C). Speaking of C, however, a couple weeks ago my mom was diagnosed with stage one invasive ductal carcinoma (IDC). Basically, the most common type of breast cancer in women that pops up as they age. 80% of breast cancer diagnosis are IDC, and it has a very, very high survival rate; logically I'm not too worried about my mom, but when has anxiety ever meshed with logical thought?

So I took the day off work since I'm sick (I also took yesterday off for the same reason - I'm very proud of myself that I shook off the retail-worker anxiety of CAN'T CALL IN SICK CLOWN WILL EAT ME two days in a row), and my mom and dad are meeting with the breast cancer surgeon and my moms new oncologist today. Apparently, this created the perfect storm of anxiety in my system. Since my parents are out (I'm living at home while finishing my Master's Degree to save money), I figured I would order some soul-healing chicken noodle soup from Panera, and a Dr. Pepper from 7-11 'cause caffeine, through DoorDash. Never had a bad experience with DoorDash before, after all! 

I ordered and asked for no-contact, since I'm sick and it's the responsible thing to do. Half-an-hour later I get a text message from my dasher saying they couldn't reach me, so they left the food on the chairs on my front porch.

I don't have chairs on the front porch.

They sent a picture.

**That's not my porch.**

My food, my soul-saving chicken noodle soup and caffeine infusion of Dr. Pepper, are sitting on a strangers porch! No! I texted the driver immediately that it was the wrong address, that wasn't my house, please grab the bags and we can see if I can see them from my house, they can just walk the food over to my porch, I'd put on a mask, no biggie, mistakes happen.

Nope, they'd already left and never responded to any of my messages. I was beginning to feel a bit teary-eyed because hey, it's already been a stressful morning, and now my food has been abandoned on a strangers porch, waiting longingly to be eaten.

So I had to go through customer support on DoorDash to figure out what to do. Now, if you have never gone through a chat conversation for help (my preferred method of customer service next to e-mails, seriously, if I don't have to talk on the phone then I won't!), they have a script they HAVE to follow. Canned responses that are dozens of words long that they did not just type in that two second period between the load to an agent. Very basic "I'm so sorry this happened, I understand your frustration, let me look into this for you," kind of stuff. So I start a chat, and right off the bat the agent (who was lovely and just doing her job, no hate!) says that the food was delivered and the dasher tried to contact me when she couldn't find me. 

1. The food was not delivered, unless DoorDash decided to donate a couple iron-wrought deck chairs to my porch, which would be an amazing service. 5 Stars. 
2. Nobody tried to contact me. I was playing a game on my phone the entire wait, and nobody called. When I texted the driver they never texted back. Also I requested no contact because of the bug I have, why would she need to contact me? 

So I explain that above, get more canned responses about the delivery being correct and the driver not being able to contact me. By this point all the anxiety and stress I was dealing with began to bubble up, and to my immense shame (despite the fact that I was home alone and nobody could see me cry except my cat, and he DGAF) I started to cry. And, to my even greater shame, I took all this anxiety and stress out on the poor customer service rep. I ranted that the food wasn't at my house, it was at the wrong address, I didn't have deck chairs, the driver wasn't even TRYING to help me figure out where they left my food, I told them I was tired, sick, stressed, working two jobs while doing grad school and that I was already having a terrible day waiting to hear how much and what kind of treatments my mom would need to kick this cancers ass. 

Not my finest moment. 

Of course the agent can't sympathize or tell me to fuck off because again, canned, pre-written responses. I apologized immediately (15 years working retail, being the brunt of someone's emotional constipation is never fun), and after the agent gave me credits for the undelivered food I apologized again and thanked them for their help. They did say that the driver would be investigated for lying about reaching out to me and for delivering to the wrong address, then ignoring me when I tried to assist them getting the food to the right address. I hope they're not in big trouble, but I also hope they learn to be more careful when delivering from now on. 

After the anxiety/stress tears petered out I put on my shoes and a mask and walked down the street to see if I could spot my food (didn't feel like gambling on a re-order today). It was diagonally across the street from my house. Literally just across the street, at a house with nice big house numbers on both the mailbox and above the front door showing off that it was most certainly NOT the address on the DoorDash order. 

So now here I sit, ranting on Reddit about an awful day that is just...awful, that has my anxiety working overtime because everything in my life is happening and it's happening RIGHT NOW ALL AT THE SAME TIME, with my Panera &amp; Dr. Pepper still sitting in bags beside me, waiting to be eaten, except now that I've had a good cry and anxiety spike, I've lost my appetite. 

I just wanted soup. 

&amp;#x200B;

**PS** For anybody interested, **my mom is AWESOME** and I'm 100% sure she's going to be okay. She is super self-sufficient (raised four kids and let me tell you, knowing myself and my siblings, that was NOT easy!), deals with my dads stupidity (he's a forester-type, which means he has the self-preservation instincts of a gnat at a summer camp featuring Jason Voorhees with a fly swatter), she's already sewed special pillows to go under her arms post-surgery and we spent all last week making freezer meals for during her recover period. I admire and respect my mom so, so much, and she is going to kick this cancers ass!