Our postie is becoming too unreliable to be trustworthy anymore, to the stage where I think parcel deliveries for anything I order off the internet will start to be made to work. It’s not just the usual crap of a few torn letters (which we do get by the myriad) – its now not bothering to knock when someone is in to sign for the parcel (despite the two cars in the drive and a ladder against the windows with a bucket of water at the bottom being a possible clue to habitation) to signing for the parcels himself. So paranoid am I about his recent antics that I’ve had to resort to mailing companies I’ve recently dealt with to see what the status of the delivery is – I just can’t trust them anymore.
I had to pick up another parcel from the depot this morning because of this and was given further proof that out local service is populated by a variety of missing links – this isn’t true of any other postie I’ve dealt with, those at work are wonderful, jolly people who go out of their way to help. No one was at the counter so I rang the bell, no answer – five minutes pass, ring again – no answer. It’s fifteen minutes before anyone bothers to answer. The big thing is I know that they’re just around the corner, I can hear them talking about the fact that one of them (I cannot identify which one, thank God) is discussing the fact that it burns when he pisses and he thinks he’s picked up something from that bird the other night – all with graphical descriptions of the possible inflammations a certain part of her anatomy may or may not have had.
The sign on the desk about staff and verbal abuse adds a wonderful touch to the whole scene.
Midland Film Monkey 