Delivery drivers! When delivering a priority package to a residential address during normal working hours, TRY RINGING THE BLOODY DOORBELL. This may save you having to write “you’re not in, nah nah nah” on a bit of cardboard and returning to the same address with the same package at the same time tomorrow.
Top tips
by
Comments
0 responses to “Top tips”
Did you actually see said delivery driver with said parcel the first time?
Or, as is far more likely, did the lazy so-n-so simply put the bit of cardboard through your door and run away, thus forcing you to write on a big bit of paper, ‘I am in my house, please knock the door loudly’ to stick on your front door the next day?
If scenario two is the case, then said delivery driver has been trained by Royal Mail in the art of winding people up. It doesn’t take long to do this training, and requires no intelligence whatsoever. The effectiveness of said strategy is monitored by the number of complaints their Customer Service phone line receives. I believe that the southside of Glasgow is top of the leader board right now.
Yours, with lots of sympathy ,
Laura
No, I didn’t see him – and I’ve been able to see the front door all day. I suspect it’s one of those “can’t be arsed going over there” deliveries where the driver just doesn’t bother – which would explain the lack of “na na na” card even though the delivery is listed as “punter not in” on the parcelforce site.
> did the lazy so-n-so simply put the bit of cardboard through your door and run away
Our parcel postie does that – he sneaks round at 7.20am, assumes – wrongly – that nobody’s up, and shoves the card through the box before running away, giggling.
My postie has recently begun peeling off recorded delivery stickers and posting the item anyway, leaving the incriminating evidence on the stairs. Duh! I think I feel a complaint coming on.
I’m feeling all nostalgic now for the days (not THAT long ago) when posties actually took the time and care to make sure you actually got your mail.. (sighs and looks forward to her blue rinse and tartan shopping trolley)
Good luck with the complaint, Donna -unfortunately, I am a serial complainer and absolute hee haw has been done about the Victoria Road sorting office. Except, maybe, they now leave even more of those wee red rubber bands on my stairs.
If stuff is from Amazon, my postie very kindly leaves it leaning against my door: it’s safe because our flats have an intercom system to get in the front door. But if it’s from anyone else, thus using one of these so-called delivery companies… I don’t know why they don’t just admit that the only way you’re ever going to get it is to come pick it up from their delivery point. The usual shtick is to wait until it really should have been here, phone up the vendor, get a delivery number, phone the delivery company… no, haven’t seen any cards… yes, someone was here all the time… tried to deliver twice, uh huh… where are you? I’ll be right over.
But that doesn’t work when the depot is in an industrial estate in Cambuslang and you’re in Dennistoun withut a car…
Never complain to the delivery firm — they don’t give a shit, ’cause you are not their customer. Complain to their customer: the people you’ve actually paid. Make a separate complaint for every fuck-up. Try to make them think twice about who they pay to make their deliveries.
I’ve had some success with complaining in advance. Send them an email saying “I will buy this from you if you don’t use any of the following delivery eejits. Otherwise, I won’t.”
We keep getting letters for 15A when we live at 15. Forgivable mistake, you might think, except that 15A is a petrol station, their letters say “Filling Station” on the front, and we’re a terraced house with no front garden. You’d think the lack of petrol pumps might ring alarm bells with the postman, but no.
> The effectiveness of said strategy is monitored by the number of complaints their Customer Service phone line receives. I believe that the southside of Glasgow is top of the leader board right now.
Having worked for that customer service line for a while, I can assure you that, unless your postman has opened all your birthday cards and taken out any cash therein, shouted at you to fuck off, slapped you in the face, and told you to go ahead and complain, laughing uproariously at the thought of ever suffering any consequences, you’re not even on the leader board.
I wish I were exaggerating. If any one MP were to work on that phone line for a week, the Royal Mail would be completely scrapped inside a month.