Monopoly

There are a few things that raise my blood pressure (beyond the medical condition that causes that), cruelty to animals, selfishness and having to use services that are terrible.

If you don’t like Microsoft, you can use Apple or even open source. If a plumber does a bad job you can use another one next time, if your carpenter turns up without a hammer...well you get the gist.

This is not the case with the Post Office. You have no choice. So they can get away with pretty much anything. Frequently they do.

I was home sick today, so I was home. You can imagine my surprise when I walked through the hall and noticed a shadow on the door. It was a delivery card stuffed into the screen door. I’d been in all day, so how come there was a card? I have a perfectly functioning door bell.

I decided to call to find out if the parcel was back at my local PO before walking down there. I rang the 131318 number on the card. Dial one for this, dial two for that and three for all other enquiries. Two.

Then. Dial one for this, dial two for that and three for something else and four for other things. If you wish to speak with an operator press zero. Zero.

A little bit of hold music followed by, ‘All of our operators are busy at the moment. If you would like to receive a call back from one of our expert customer service team, hold on the line for the next available call back time. The next available call back is at 1.30pm tomorrow. Press one to receive the call back.’

If you don’t press one you hear, ‘thank you, please call back later in the day’. Then the line drops. No option to hold. Just go through the automated phone system over and over again until you truly understand the meaning of the term ‘going postal’.

I went through this process five times before I decided to take a walk to the local Post Office.

It was two thirty. I stood in a queue of poorly dressed locals and undisciplined children for 25 minutes. While I stood there like a lemon and marvelled at the rubbish they sell from the buckets and shelves that line the wait area, plastic torches, car seat organisers and large format versions of Mr Angry (I love it when irony is unintentional). Upon getting to the counter I was told that the truck hadn’t returned yet and I had to come back later.

I wanted my parcel, so I had no choice. I went back later as instructed and queued again for another 30 minutes.

I got my parcel after nearly an hour and half of my day devoted to it, when I was in at the original attempted delivery time. I’ve never liked the Post Office. I’m one of those people that bulks buys stamps to minimise my exposure to the place. If I could use another company for my daily mail needs, I would. Only I don’t have a choice and neither does anyone else, so they can treat you as poorly as can be with little care and they get away with it. Everytime!

Plus, they’re closed on Saturdays, what’s that all about?