So Vanguard turns its passengers loose with a telephone calling card with six minutes on it and otherwise people are pretty much on their own. Ah, the glories of Queens in the vicinity of LaGuardia! And just about 12 hours after the shipment in question was entered as "delivered" to the proper recipient, the "help" people at UPS are now able to report that it was given to "a man" at a location with the same street number but a completely different street address about a half mile away, up hill, down dale, and across a stream. Waiting as long as suspense will allow, and headless of the fact that the house can't be locked since there's a key broken off in the front door, you-know-who goes scampering off to catch whoever is at the location where the package is reported to have been left. You-know-who is relieved to find that the location is a house, not an apartment. The newspaper is on the ground, so people are either absent or not yet up. A knock on the door brings a grumpy-sounding response and a grudging look through the cartons and cartons in the front room, all delivered the preceding day by UPS. A package for us is at last located, but there's no kindly offer to ferry you-know-who and the waist-high package home. A telephone number is proffered. All must wait until Saturday. News of the Finding is shared. A kindly locksmith allocates the first call of the day to us, warning that there's really not much help for this old lock, that it was sold through Sears 30 years ago, was cheap in its day, and is no longer made.