swee'pea99
Squire
So I get to the Post Office and of course there's a big queue, but that's ok, I can use the self-service machines, or rather 'machine', since as usual one of them is down. And the other has a bloke assisting, because as well as being hopelessly unreliable, these 'self-service' machines are so hellish complicated that they need a permanent assistant to help people.
So I get in line behind the other three people. Eventually I get to the front. The assistant looks sceptically at the front of my (re-used) jiffy bag, muttering about the remnants of the previous delivery address. I point out that it's been energetically and comprehensively scribbled out with a biro, so that it's now illegible, and the new stuck on address could hardly be clearer. he grudgingly takes it from me, and offers it up to the 'large letter' slit. "I'm afraid we're not allowed to push them through," he says, "It'll have to go as a small parcel." "Wouldn't take much of a 'push'," I think, "It's a jiffy bag, and would go through easily." But what the hell...
Small parcel > signed for > value? £65, I type in, next. "If the value is above £50, we strongly recommend Special Delivery," says my Personal Assistant. "With Signed For you're not covered for anything over £50." "Oh, 50 quid's ok," I say. "If it's worth over £50, it's not covered at all." "Seriously? You mean, if it's £50 I'm covered, but if it's £51 I'm not? Ok, I'll go back and make it £50." (Go Back) Which I do. My PA doesn't much like this, and starts muttering under his breath. "If you had to claim, you would have to prove it was worth £50," he grumps. "Fine - I can do that."
"Scan bar code on self-adhesive sticker." Which sticker? There are about eight. My PA is off peering dubiously at the broken down machine. "Is this the right sticker?" I ask him. "No," he explains, as if to an simpleton, "This is International, see?" pointing to some type I can't read, and turns back to the stricken machine. "Ok," I say, "So which one do I need?" "This one," he says, in a kind of 'just how dumb are you anyway?' tone.
I scan, I stick, my PA returns to take my jiffy bag off me and starts explaining about tracking numbers and the like. "And how will you be tracking your parcel?" he asks, "by phone or online?" "Online," I say. "And who is your service provider? You may not know, but the Post Office..." "Oh Christ, spare me that at least," I mutter, and exit pursued by bear.
Grrrrr......
(I made up the bit about the bear. The rest, I fear, is all true.)
So I get in line behind the other three people. Eventually I get to the front. The assistant looks sceptically at the front of my (re-used) jiffy bag, muttering about the remnants of the previous delivery address. I point out that it's been energetically and comprehensively scribbled out with a biro, so that it's now illegible, and the new stuck on address could hardly be clearer. he grudgingly takes it from me, and offers it up to the 'large letter' slit. "I'm afraid we're not allowed to push them through," he says, "It'll have to go as a small parcel." "Wouldn't take much of a 'push'," I think, "It's a jiffy bag, and would go through easily." But what the hell...
Small parcel > signed for > value? £65, I type in, next. "If the value is above £50, we strongly recommend Special Delivery," says my Personal Assistant. "With Signed For you're not covered for anything over £50." "Oh, 50 quid's ok," I say. "If it's worth over £50, it's not covered at all." "Seriously? You mean, if it's £50 I'm covered, but if it's £51 I'm not? Ok, I'll go back and make it £50." (Go Back) Which I do. My PA doesn't much like this, and starts muttering under his breath. "If you had to claim, you would have to prove it was worth £50," he grumps. "Fine - I can do that."
"Scan bar code on self-adhesive sticker." Which sticker? There are about eight. My PA is off peering dubiously at the broken down machine. "Is this the right sticker?" I ask him. "No," he explains, as if to an simpleton, "This is International, see?" pointing to some type I can't read, and turns back to the stricken machine. "Ok," I say, "So which one do I need?" "This one," he says, in a kind of 'just how dumb are you anyway?' tone.
I scan, I stick, my PA returns to take my jiffy bag off me and starts explaining about tracking numbers and the like. "And how will you be tracking your parcel?" he asks, "by phone or online?" "Online," I say. "And who is your service provider? You may not know, but the Post Office..." "Oh Christ, spare me that at least," I mutter, and exit pursued by bear.
Grrrrr......
(I made up the bit about the bear. The rest, I fear, is all true.)