We are currently experiencing some frustration with our local Post delivery service ! On Tuesday although we were in , a note was pushed through the door saying that as we were out a parcel could not be delivered. It could be collected at the local Post Office.
Fine, David went to pick it up on Tuesday afternoon. It wasn't there....must still be in the van. Etc!
He went again on Wednesday and again on Thursday. The man who runs the Post Office is now very embarrassed....he has no explanation for what has happened to the parcel....it's just not there.....
One problem is that we don't know what's in the parcel....we are not aware of anything we have ordered....so it could be anything!
The van man is said to have taken it back to the city....he is not expected back here till next week!
Ho hum! It reminds me of the time when the young man in the next village told me I was out when I clearly wasn't in order to save himself the job of carrying the books I'd ordered up the hill!
Here comes the cry all us old people use when things like this go amiss.
"It wasn't like this in the old days"
Well it wasn't was it?
Posted with Blogsy
3 comments:
No, it was not Jean.
I sympathise but have no solution to what appears to be a universal problem.
Not only do people push cards through my letterbox saying "sorry you were out when I called", but they also fail to 'see' me in their wing-mirrors as they drive away and I wave from the doorstep.
There was a time, not that long ago, when pride was taken in a job well done.
Nowadays at appears that customers merely get in the way of a quick getaway and return home.
I worked for the Post Office in the late sixties before I joined the Army. In those days it was Civil Service and there were very strict rules about what you did with a delivery that couldn't be made. You were required to take it to the local branch office after leaving a card at the address. If you failed in this, you faced the sack.
I can remember one day being sent with a special delivery from the City of London to a house boat on the River at Chelsea (Cheney Walk). Luckily it was a permanent mooring, not one of the temporary ones, where the boat owners have to move on every 28 days. Nobody was afloat (euthamism for nobody home) and I had to than locate the nearest branch office (Post Office) which was some distance away, but I left the card and just as I was going into the post office to hand in the item, a very out of breath person caught up with me with my card asking for their delivery. Apparently they'd been walking a dog further down the River Bank when they'd seen me, but I hadn't heard them shouting. They'd had to run very hard to catch me (I was young and fit than and walked fast).
No vans or even bikes in those days. We caught the tube or bus or walked to wherever we delivered to. I loved the job, but the Army beckoned and I left it.
It all went downhill after that :(
love it Earnie it certainly did!
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