While there is in fact a grocery store in Crooked Creek, Alaska, it is worth noting that a small bottle of cooking oil costs twelve dollars. This fact and others like it make it advisable for one who is going there to have some groceries flown in.

Seems like it ought to be a pretty simple process, but there are many moving parts.

First, one must find a grocery store that will provide the so called “bush mail” service. This service works thusly: you call or email in your grocery list. Someone from the store shops your list, calls if they have questions, and delivers the resulting boxes to the airline of your choice. There are extra fees for the shopping and the delivering. Then, the airline contacts you to collect their own fee in the form of airfreight.

Step One: Find a grocery store that does bush mail. There are four Fred Meyers stores in Anchorage, and by trial and error I found the one that provides the service. But first I had to get through the idiot robot that answers the phone.

“Welcome to Fred Meyers!” said the voice whom I dubbed Eddie*. “How may I direct your call?”

“Bush mail,” I said as clearly as possible.

“You want the pharmacy?” asked Eddie.

“No,” I said hastily. “I do not want the pharmacy!”

“Hold on, and I’ll connect you to the pharmacy,” said Eddie happily.

Then I had to explain to the person in the pharmacy what had happened, and that I was looking for the bush mail department.

“Well, this is the pharmacy,” said the person. “You need to ask for bush mail.”

I went through this process no less than three times that afternoon.

Finally I hung up and called back one more time.

Eddie answered with his cheerful greeting. “Welcome to Fred Meyers. How many I direct your call?”

“Bush mail,” I said through my teeth.

“You want some balloons?” asked Eddie.

Finally, finally, I got hold of Jim in the bush mail department and he gave me his direct line number. I imagine Eddie is heartbroken that we can’t play anymore, but that’s what he gets for being a dolt.

Step Two: follow up. Three days later I got to Crooked Creek, and hit the ground running with my substitute teaching job, and it wasn’t until Wednesday that I thought to wonder the fate of my grocery order. I called the bush mail number, but received no answer. So, I tried the airline.

“Why, yes,” said the nice young woman who answered the phone. “We received your grocery order on Monday. We just haven’t had room for it on our planes yet.”

I replied that I was getting hungry, and would she please make all effort to get my order on the next day’s flight.

“I guess we better,” said the young woman, “because Thursday’s flight to Crooked will be our last until next week.”

Over the next 18 hours or so I made three more squeaky-wheel type phone calls. My last of these phone calls revealed that the plane had just left Anchorage, but the person on the phone hadn’t yet received the updated freight manifest. Long story short, she didn’t know if my boxes were on their way or not. She said she would call me when she knew.

When she finally called me back, it was several hours later and to tell me that my three boxes of groceries would land in Crooked Creek in twenty minutes.

Now mind you, when people have freight coming into a village, they have to meet the plane and haul their stuff home themselves, or else get someone else to pick it up.

I didn’t know who to ask, so I left the aides in charge of the class a few minutes before lunch time and borrowed the school truck. This truck is a bit of a piecer**. I had seen somebody start it, but evidently I had missed a crucial detail. The maintenance guy came out and started it for me, and also helped me to understand that you can’t back up with the parking brake on.

I was a little late getting to the airport. I found everybody else already gone, and my three boxes sitting alone on the frozen ground. The plane was still there, as the pilot was kindly waiting for me to arrive. When he saw the ancient truck bouncing over the potholes, he hauled out toward his next port of call.

I pulled up in his wake and began loading my boxes. I was cold, but not too cold to snap a picture of this wonderful bit of visual irony:

Don’t worry, my carrots did not freeze, as the boxes were only there for a minute or two. After loading my treasure, I drove to my teacher apartment, warmed up my hands, and had the best lunch evah***.

For your further edification:

*Eddie was the shipboard computer in one of the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy books. He wasn’t terribly smart, and he had a huge ego to match.

** “Piecer” is short for “P.O.S.”

***Some people, me included, think it is funny to spell “ever” this way.