In the future, when planning elaborate and complicated labwork that all depends on a single perishable and very valuable item being delivered to me by you, I will no longer rely on you to deliver something to me as promised on time. I will not take your delivery dates as accurate, but will know them for what they are: random guesses based on the ways of the entrails of mice and the rolling of bones. I will also not expect you to apologise or in any way expidite my express package, or even offer any explanation as to why you and the customs brokerage team seem to be trapped in a dark room together playing Marco Polo while trying to clear my package at the border.
In the future I will fend for myself, and survive in my wilderness by my own skills, borrowing from my kind neighbors to make ends meet and still succeed despite you. Were it not for a huge horseshoe I keep tucked safely up my bottom for such occasions, and the generosity of other researchers who just happen to have the same obscure product that I need I would be royally and utterly screwed.
You nearly f*cked up my entire week's work, you wankers.
I hope you drop your ice cream on the sidewalk in the sun.
Most sincerely,
Geo
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