Postal Service
A couple of months ago, I ordered a package from Korea. It’s not the first time I’ve done this, and uually it takes a good few weeks to come through; seeing how it’s on the other side of the world and all. This time, however, this package was kind of special to me – it was a Christmas present I bought myself. Perhaps because of that, according to sod’s law, it took a little longer than normal to manufacture and post. Like always, I tracked the parcel on its perilous journey across the world. I stayed in the day it was sceduled to arrive, because I didn’t want to miss it. My parents had to go out and drop my brother off somewhere, so I was in the house alone. I waited patiently for the doorbell to ring, looking forward to seeing the jolly postman in his big red van – but he didn’t turn up. Odd.
I checked the tracking on the website, getting worried that something had happened to it. According to the website, it had been unsuccessfully delivered to our house and a notice had been left. Was there a notice? Had the doorbell gone? No. I rang up the service it was supposed to be coming with – but they said that it had nothing to do with them. They gave me a number and shrugged me off. In a state of panic by this point, I called around, repeatedly being handed other numbers. No one seemed to know where my precious parcel was. After almost an hour, I finally got hold of a woman who told me the package hadn’t been delivered at all. It was sitting in a depot somewhere with customs charges – £29.88! So after an evening of panic and worry that I’d somehow missed the note or that it had been delivered to the wrong house, they expected me to drive out to some distant building and pay as near as made no difference to £30 for messing me about like that? Wow. I knew they were bad, but I never thought the postal service could be so inept.
