The box was sent by teleportation, a common practice due to the dangers of other forms of transport. It arrived precisely on the fifth, somewhere in the vicinity of tea-time. It was a good box, made of sturdy brown cardboard with a little white label on the side and tape sealing it to make it hard to knock open unintentionally, yet easy enough to open for anyone who set their mind to it. The young boy danced around it exultantly when it arrived, forgetting even his beloved orange mango tea in his euphoria.
"Oh, nana," he said joyously, "is it really here?"
The kindly elderly woman smiled, her deep blue eyes twinkling. "It's really here, child. Now get out the scissors and help your nana open the box. The poor man is probably running out of oxygen by now."
The boy ran to the kitchen, full of energy, and ran back to the box holding scissors, defying an ancient law that had been laid down for stupid children such as himself. But he was not hurt, and so the woman that was only probably his grandmother did not scold him.
As he made the first sloppy cut into the box, there was a loud gasp, as though some ninety-year old man had decided to breathe for the first time in his life. When the top of the box was finally cut off, it fell over and a man tumbled out. This occurrence distracted everyone involved from the tragedy of a perfectly great box being destroyed. The man stood, and it was revealed to the boy and his maybe-grandmother that he was very tall. One wondered how he had fit in that wondrous box in the first place. He dusted off his cheap polyester suit.
"Good afternoon, or possibly morning, friends," the man said. "I'm Don, the lifetime supply of tech support you ordered." He looked around the mud-walled hut, suddenly longing for the plastic walls we would never see again. "I must've been sent to one of the survivors islands."
"He's here!" the boy shouted, dancing around Dan's knees. "Tech support is here! We'll have that boat fixed in no time!" He ran outside to dance about in the garden. His maybe-grandmother shook the man's hand and gave another one of her grandmotherly smiles. "We have an old boat in the garage," she explained. "He's dying to go out on it. I ordered this lifetime supply of tech support as a present for his 7th birthday."
"I can fix a boat in no time, ma'am," Don assured her. "You're the boys grandmother, then?"
She smiled. "So they say. Can I get you anything to eat or drink?"
"I'm fine, thank you. I just had lunch. Now, where's this boat of yours?" ...