I needed dishwashing detergent. But what kind? Centrum PowerWash Pods with SupR-Kleen Sheeting Action, maybe. Or EcoNice Rice-skin Globules (Removes stubborn residue with the power of Shame). Or ElectraWash Triple-Action Platinum, now with Plate-Blasting UltraNapalm?

Perhaps I could just buy the generic house brand that's half the price, but no — that wouldn't make me feel as if I've harnessed the latest in dishwasher soap technology that will change the way I think about doing dishes. I want to be like the people in the commercials who take out a plate and regard it with the reverence you would otherwise associate with a Crusader knight finding a chalice from the Last Supper.

I am brand-agnostic. I flit between brands based entirely on price. There's never been a day when I took a glass out of the dishwasher, held it up to the light, and said, "Oh, woe the day when I cut corners, and bought Whisk Double-Cycle Nodules instead of Tritium Stain-Death Bricks with the Power-Action Core for Tough Wash Cycle cleaning. Look at these spots. I must ritually disembowel myself out of humiliation."

Well, I said it once, but I felt stupid.

In any case, I was out of whatever I had bought the last time, so it was off to the store. One of those stock-up trips where you come away with shrimp and sneakers and potting soil and a chair. But somewhere along the line, I forgot my original purpose, and when I unpacked everything upon arriving home, there was one thing missing: dishwashing detergent.

Ah, to heck with it. I opened the Amazon app and searched for the product, thereby ensuring that I will get ads for dish soap for the rest of my life. In fact, perhaps my funeral will be interrupted by people getting text alerts for soap (In memoriam, now 13% off).

I was assured it would be delivered the next day. Then I noted the fine print. Estimated delivery time: 4 a.m. to 8 a.m.

This was not necessary. I had a vision of some delivery guy in a barracks hooked up to a wire that would issue an electric shock at 3:15 a.m. to wake him for this most important mission. What would he think? Why would anyone need dishwashing detergent at 4 a.m.? Will the lights in the house be blazing, a lone figure pacing in the living room, impatiently snatching the box from the delivery guy's hands with a curt dismissal — "You're late, but perhaps, if God is on our side, those coffee stains in the cup will not set for good" — then slam the door.

My real concern was, of course, Birch the Dog. He lives to defend and alert. By his reckoning, he has saved us from several hundred instances of invasion, death and kibble theft by mail carriers. He knows that sometimes miscreants show up with boxes, and these boxes might be full of raccoons. The spirit of Paul Revere lives in every dog's breast. An invader stealing up the steps at 4 a.m. to set forth a Threat Box would mean mad crazy barking.

And that would lead me to a thought I'd never had before: "Is someone trying to break in? No, someone is trying to bring me colorful, gelatinous pods of chemicals in a green plastic bucket." And then I'd return to sleep.

Unless Birch had slept through the delivery and was making up for his slackness by barking at a person trying to steal the detergent. It stands to reason that there are thieves trailing delivery trucks at 4 a.m. in hopes of scoring some dishwashing detergent. Do I have to get up and see what's going on? Do I really have to bring in the detergent at 4 a.m. to restore peace and comity to the house?

The night passed without incident. Upon retrieving the paper from the porch the next morning, I noticed a distinct lack of dishwasher detergent. Perhaps opportunistic wildlife had carried off the box, opened it in search of food and bit the pods, and now we'd have platoons of raccoons roaming around, foaming at the mouth. Would I be obligated to tell Animal Control that the raccoons were not rabid, but simply dealing with a mouthful of Cascade Platinum?

"Sir, in these situations, we really can't take the chance."

"But it's lemon-scented. Get close enough, if they have citrus on their breath, it's probably not rabies."

The package did not arrive by 8 a.m. It did not arrive by noon. When I checked the status of the order, it said it would arrive by 9 p.m. This suggested that the 4 a.m. delivery guy had been so sleepy that he'd put it on the wrong conveyor belt and it was shipped to Indianapolis and they were sending a driver to pick it up and bring it back to Minneapolis.

It showed up at 8 p.m. The long nightmare was over. I put a few pods under the sink and took the tub down the closet where the strategic reserve of household items is stored. It fit neatly on the shelf.

Right next to the bag of 32 pods I'd forgotten I had.

james.lileks@startribune.com • 612-673-7858 • Twitter: @Lileks • facebook.com/james.lileks