Entry 6: Smash-Thru Deliveries
When the pigeon factory failed, any ordinary bird would have cut their losses and quit being an entrepreneur. But Kookie was not an ordinary bird: he was an ex-philosophy professor with the Cwazy Gene, which had plummeted his IQ but also increased his knack for new business propositions.
On Louis’ current draft timeline, the pigeon factory had closed its doors five years ago. And then started a rapid succession of more businesses. The main thing they had in common was that they always failed – but only after somehow hoodwinking a bunch of customers and creditors.
One business that particularly gobsmacked Louis was ‘Smash-Thru Deliveries’. The premise of the business, according to an old brochure Louis had sourced from a witness, was that it “superbly tackled” two key dilemmas of delivery businesses: speed of delivery and delivery costs. The brochure continued:
‘Here at Smash-Thru Deliveries, we understand the significance of your deliveries being FREE and SPEEDY PACKAGES. Who can wait for stuff when they can be as quick as teleporting like magic? We understand. Be ready for your delivery to smash your windows, they are so quick. You press ‘ORDER’ and the delivery comes hurtling to your residential address. Please insure the premises.’
On first reading, Louis had circled the word ‘insured’. Then after contemplating, he had circled, by association, the words ‘smash your windows’ and ‘hurtled’. Surely it wasn’t meant literally? But knowing Kookie and the peculiar symptoms of the Cwazy Gene, Louis suspected the only correct interpretation was literal.
On a Sunday afternoon, Louis headed out. He intended to visit an owl who lived in a cottage in a nearby forest. Louis had found out about the owl from the witness who had given him the brochure. The witness, a badger with an odd way of speaking and an intense personality, had kept the brochure because of overwhelming guilt:
“I keep this brochure as a reminder of my past errors,” the intense badger had recounted. “Some years ago, I came across this delivery business – Smash-Thru Deliveries – and referred my dearest friend, Mr Owl, who had just moved into a brilliant cottage. Mr Owl was in need of tasteful, antique furniture that reminded everyone of his overflowing wisdom and the need to conduct themselves appropriately in his home. A very sensible notion. Anyway, he had found a brilliant antique furniture dealer, a raven who stocked unique pieces from across the globe at a warehouse in the higher north west of Sydney. Brilliant dealer with precious prices that could make your eyes well up. But worth the expense. Mr Owl, in his twilight years, poured the last of his life savings into this antique furniture. His aims were tremendous but simple in execution: live the last of his years surrounded by intimidating luxury while he served his guests tea and hounded them with his intelligence. Not so much to ask for! Mr Owl placed his order with the raven dealer, now all that was left to do was to ask a prompt delivery business to bring the fantastical pieces to his cottage. As luck would have it – or tragic misfortune – I came across this brochure,” the witness had paused to run his paws across the crinkled brochure, “I called up my friend Mr Owl and provided the telephone number. I shall never forget Mr Owl’s last words to me: ‘My friend, you have saved me so much hassle. Free and very speedy deliveries of my bucket list furniture? What more could I ask for?’” The badger enunciated the last words strangely in a whisper and his eyes became teary.
Despite Louis’ best efforts, the badger refused to disclose the nature of the tragedy. Luckily though, he supplied Mr Owl’s address. And so Louis went on his way, hoping Mr Owl would be home.
On arriving, he saw that the cottage was in complete disrepair. The windows were boarded up and the door had a massive sign taped above the knob: ‘Guests are not welcome.’
Louis was confused. The cottage looked abandoned for years, but the sign suggested Mr Owl was still living there. He crept up to one of the boarded windows and peeked through a gap. A large, round eye peered back from the other side. Louis jumped, yelping in fear.
“What do you want?” a raspy voice asked from the dust-riddled darkness, “Guests are unwelcome – can’t you read, you illiterate fool?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr Owl,” Louis said. He explained who he was and his intention to bring the owner of Smash-Thru Deliveries – and many other failed businesses – to irreversible justice.
At first, Mr Owl was silent. Then, just as Louis was about to give up, the front door opened and the owl ducked his head out. He looked frazzled, his feathers ruffled and pointing in all directions. He was wearing a blazer made up of several dozen pieces of mismatched fabric stitched together.
“Come in – why don’t you? I’ll show you what you’re up against.” The owl chuckled in an unhinged way.
Louis entered and he was stunned at what he saw. The cottage’s walls had been obscured from the outside by an overgrowth of bushes and weeds, but from the inside it was clear to see they had been irreparably damaged by the impact of extremely large objects that must have been thrown from a considerable distance. Broken, dispirited furniture littered the lounge room and crowded into the corridors.
“What on earth happened here? An earthquake?”
Mr Owl played with the loose threads of his blazer, “I haven’t touched or moved any object here since that fateful day four years and 26 days ago – the Delivery Date. I refuse to live like I used to and my dreams of a luxurious, condescending retirement are long gone. I am ashamed of hosting guests. But enough of that, tell me – will you bring this oblivious entrepreneur to justice, do I have your word?”
Louis breathed in slowly and turning to Mr Owl, shook wings.
Back at The Café, Louis asked Kookie to explain the mode of delivery behind Smash-Thru Deliveries – no one he had spoken to knew, other than to say it must have been high-speed and airborne.
“Catapult,” Kookie said, looking at Louis like he was an idiot, “What else? It is the speediest and lowest cost option for any delivery distance.”
“Yes, so obvious and straightforward.”
“Pigeons assisted me to locate the destination in the GPS tracker and position the catapult correctly. I yelled ‘Fire!’ and they shot the package through the air. If it arrived in the wrong residential premise, I would shoot two pigeons by catapult: one to retrieve the package from the wrong place, and another to the correct premise to explain the delivery delay to the customer.”
“So those pigeons that keep staking you out these days, are they angry because of the back-breaking labour at below-minimum wage at the pigeon factory, or because of lifelong injuries from being shot by catapult?”
Kookie considered then said, “Who the heck knows?”
