In our age of the Internet, people can quickly become lazy: all they have to do is sit down at the computer and browse, reserve, order, buy, all without leaving their chair at home.
However, we shouldn't be too trusting in life. And while we've learned to easily ignore the government's generous promises (remember, for those of us older, how our generation was promised life under communism, how every family would be given a separate apartment by the year 2000, how GDP would double, and other blessings), we certainly treat the internet with greater respect. Here, we think, everyone is ours. Meanwhile, the number of complaints about the quality of goods and services provided online is constantly growing.
Against this backdrop, the unfortunate souls who fall into the honeyed trap of sex work and are disillusioned by the “demi-monde” women lavishly displayed in seductive poses on countless websites stand out. Such a seeker of feminine beauty, warmth, and affection, swayed by online advertising, makes their way through traffic jams to the other side of town, struggles to find the coveted door to the “garden of bliss,” and, ringing the doorbell, sees this… The most appropriate term for such an adventurer is “Photoshopped.”
It's easier with microwaves, cameras, televisions, and other electronics: they'll deliver what you ordered. They won't lug a Philips into your apartment instead of an Aristo. But home grocery delivery is a whole other story, and there's no way to put up with the rip-offs. After all, for many Muscovites and residents of other large cities, this service, offered by online grocery stores, has become vital. Especially on our gloomy winter days, which are so short: just before dawn, it's already dark…
If it weren't for the high fever that comes with the flu and my reluctance to trudge to the nearest store, I wouldn't have bothered with online ordering. But for a bachelor, there was no other choice: I quickly found a suitable website that promised delivery in three hours, called the number provided, and placed my order. I couldn't starve. Everything arrived just in time. A smiling man in uniform brought in the grocery bags, handed me a delivery note for signature, and… disappeared. The second copy of the grocery list vanished along with it. The reason for such alacrity became clear a couple of minutes later, when I opened the bags.
O unworthy representatives of virtual business, o hucksters exploiting the achievements of modern civilization! May you dream of inspections by the sanitary and epidemiological station, fire safety inspectorate, and tax inspectorate every night!
The instant-cook packets contained millet instead of buckwheat and rice. Instead of “Actimel without additives,” I fished out “pomegranate” from the packet. And the Activia was even worse. The regular cottage cheese one, which I regularly consume, was replaced with Activia with grains and bran. And bran and grains, excuse me, make me sick. I don't eat Activia with grains and bran, not at all, even when I have the flu.
But in this cruel world, where such rules of online commerce exist, does anyone care? How smoothly they told us, how much they promised, what sweet songs they sang, but in the end, they so gently screwed us over with the delivery service.
Something else happens on the eve of various holidays, when, as experienced shoppers say, a wave of low-quality and expired products hits the market…
