Post tales of parcel delivery-related woe here.
It was my birthday a couple of weeks ago (Easter Sunday to be exact, saviour-rising-from-the-dead-fans). That being the case, it was to be expected (hoped for) that I should receive a number (two or three) of parcels in the preceding week.
Due to the shift-work nature of my job, I'm often at home on weekdays, one such day being Thursday the 9th of this month. I should also point out that we have a very loud and reliable doorbell, so I'd be sure to hear it anywhere in the flat should, for example, an employee of Royal Mail ring it in order to press a parcel into my excited hands. Imagine my surprise, therefore, when popping downstairs to check for mail that afternoon (an activity that I do daily and thoroughly, I must stress, for reasons that are, I hope about to become clear) I found a "Sorry, you were out" card. Imagine my bewilderment when I saw that the postal worker in question had clearly written "8/4" in the "Today's date" section.
I like to think of myself as an understanding, tolerant sort of person. The type to give a chap the benefit of the doubt. I'm therefore almost ashamed to admit that I inadvertently began to entertain the notion that perhaps the aforementioned postman (or postwoman, but for the sake of simplicity let us assume that it was a man, as all the previous holders of this role that I have encountered in the vicinity of my current abode have been) had not only tried to pull a fast one (by putting the card through our door without going through all the tedious business of pressing the button to summon me, and by inference not actually bringing the parcel to my address, given the pointlessness of doing so if no attempt to present it to the recipient was to be made) but also attempted to cover his tracks by trying to make out that the card had actually been written and delivered on the previous day, that being a day when I'd be forced to admit, I was not at home during what are conventionally considered "business hours". (The astute reader will have deduced that my earlier point about checking mail each day would negate the possibility that the card - now to be seen lying on the doormat, affording my eyes unfettered access to its prominent aspect - had been delivered the previous day.)
No matter, I reasoned, and in the spirit of least-said-soonest-mended, availed myself of the redelivery URL on the card, a service that I'd used previously with no small rate of success. Alas, on this occasion, as a result of the impending Easter festivities (this being the day before Good Friday), the earliest redelivery option presented to me was the following Tuesday. My sense of charity towards the postman dwindled somewhat at the prospect of waiting five days (hence missing my birthday) to (hopefully) receive a parcel that I'd actually been present and willing to receive all day.
With this in mind, I dialled the "General Personal enquiries" number on the Royal Mail website (being unable to locate the "Complain about lazy, lying postmen" number) and struggled several times through an impressively tortuous menu system before being connected to a woman who listened to my (irritated but non-sweary) complaint and merrily chirped that yes, I would have to wait until Tuesday for a redelivery. I voiced the opinion that I should not have to wait a further five days for my parcel that had not been delivered to me through the fault of Royal Mail staff failing to do their job, and further suggested that the willful witholding of my parcel when I was at home and ready to receive was tantamount to theft. (Perhaps this was a little hyperbolic on my part, but I feared the lady with whom I was conversing had not fully gathered the extent of my disappointment at the non-service (and, frankly, attempt at deception) of her delivery-based colleague.) This seemed to have a rather peculiar effect upon her manner. She started breathing heavily and put the phone down on me.
Never being one to cower in the face of the mentally disturbed, I called back. This time I got through to a friendly, sympathetic chap who assured me that he'd pass on my complaint (but explained honestly that realistically I'd have very little chance of finding out what had gone on with the heavy breather) and request a redelivery for Saturday. Again, he was honest in pointing out that he couldn't 100% guarantee delivery on Saturday, but that in all likelihood, it would happen. After this, I remained irritated by the whole business, but at least happy that I would probably have my parcel on Saturday.
On Saturday, the doorbell duly rang and I was presented with a parcel. Joy! I was slightly surprised to note the lack of the usual handwritten "redeliver Saturday" (or words to that effect) that are the norm on redelivered items, but resolved to put the matter out of my mind, for 'twas the day of my birth tomorrow and there was much boozing and song to be enjoyed that night.
We pick up the story again this last Wednesday (the 22nd), when the thought struck me that my aunt had emailed me on the 5th to say she was sending me a parcel, and that this parcel had yet to arrive. Given that I had received a parcel on the 11th, I once again favoured giving the benefit of the doubt to Royal Mail and thinking this was perhaps a coincidence (my Aunt is American and therefore there is the additional factor of the American postal service to take into account). However, before contacting her with a view to chasing the situation from the US end of things, I decided to put my good faith to the test and once again visited the Royal Mail redelivery URL. And entered the details from the card (dated 8th, but actually from 9th). This gave me the option of a redelivery on Friday the 24th.
Once again, I was home during the day of the 24th. On this occasion there was not only no ringing of the doorbell, but no mail at all (I did, as you've no doubt guessed, check thoroughly). Logically, I was forced to conclude that the lack of my aunt's parcel was indeed a coincidence, and that Royal Mail held no outstanding items for me.
The following day (Saturday 25th), both myself and my wife were home all day. Neither of us were disturbed by the electronic chiming of our doorbell. Therefore, when my wife journeyed downstairs only to return clutching a sadly familiar-looking red card, in the same handwriting as the previous untruthful card, not only adorned with YESTERDAY'S MOTHERFUCKING DATE on it, but also with "Must collect 2nd time tried" scrawled on it FOR FUCK'S CUNTING SHITTING BASTARD PISSING SAKE, surprise was no longer adequate and I was forced to resort to astonishment! THE LAZY, LYING, WANKY FUCKING ARSEWIPES!
I am going to have words on Monday morning.
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