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Okay. So I spent three hours - that I will never ever have again - buying and printing all my postage through that arris of an internet auction site. This will, it says save both me and the post office staff a lot of time. all printed, thank God.
Now shall I just phone the Royal Mail and check that I can take it straight to the delivery office? Yes. Another wasted thirty minutes trying to talk to one of those things???....er....a person! that's it, a person, a human being. So Darren tells me that yes, I can do that. They are tracked, I say, is that still ok? Yes, absolutely says Darren.
To the car!!! Drive all the way to the delivery office. Fight to park the car as the spaces are all full of PO vans (bright, shiny, brand new) and join the queue. Twenty minutes later I get to the glass counter. Oh, no, sorry......we can't deal with tracked parcels here. We don't carry the orange stickers' says the girl. But, but, they said. On the phone. They said you could. No, sorry, definitely not.
Back into the car. Fight to get past yet more RM vans. The ones that are not taking my 14 parcels anywhere, any time, soon. Drive to nearest PO. Park the car. Stand in the queue which is almost out of the door. It's freezing. I am not well today as it is. Queue slowly moves forward and three quarters of an hour later we get served. Please pop your parcel on the scale, says the lady.
This is it! I get to play my trump card! I smile winningly and announce that my parcels are all prepaid. She looks unimpressed. No matter, she says, we still have to weigh everything again to check that it's correct. But....I spent hours doing that?! I'm sorry, she says, you've wasted your time. She does, at least, look very sympathetic. By this time I have a 16st cripple leaning very heavily on my shoulder. I cannot take him out to the car as I will lose my place in the queue, and there is nowhere for him to sit.
Twenty minutes of weighing and we have established that two parcels don't have enough postage on them. We cannot, though, just add extra. Oh no, says the lady, the label would be all wrong. They need new labels. Three parcels have too much postage on them. 'You must take these ones home, go on your computer and cancel the labels and either print new ones with the correct prepaid postage or just put new address labels on and come back here to post them' she says smiling heartily. My cripple leans a bit more. We are both feeling like bits of chewed string.
So, home we trot. I re-weigh the parcels and using ebay's calculator I put the weights in and it still comes up with the same amounts. We take them over to our nearest PO. This time I queue for half an hour by myself. The girl scowls at me and weighs the parcels and pronounces them fine. She also announces that by using the online postage printing I am doing her out of a job. Everyone in the huge queue amassed behind me tuts.
Quite frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. Not right at this very minute. I've spent the best part of a day trying to be helpful because I know that, at this time of the year, you are rushed off your feet. Next time I won't bother. It will be so much quicker......
Gin, anyone?
Now shall I just phone the Royal Mail and check that I can take it straight to the delivery office? Yes. Another wasted thirty minutes trying to talk to one of those things???....er....a person! that's it, a person, a human being. So Darren tells me that yes, I can do that. They are tracked, I say, is that still ok? Yes, absolutely says Darren.
To the car!!! Drive all the way to the delivery office. Fight to park the car as the spaces are all full of PO vans (bright, shiny, brand new) and join the queue. Twenty minutes later I get to the glass counter. Oh, no, sorry......we can't deal with tracked parcels here. We don't carry the orange stickers' says the girl. But, but, they said. On the phone. They said you could. No, sorry, definitely not.
Back into the car. Fight to get past yet more RM vans. The ones that are not taking my 14 parcels anywhere, any time, soon. Drive to nearest PO. Park the car. Stand in the queue which is almost out of the door. It's freezing. I am not well today as it is. Queue slowly moves forward and three quarters of an hour later we get served. Please pop your parcel on the scale, says the lady.
This is it! I get to play my trump card! I smile winningly and announce that my parcels are all prepaid. She looks unimpressed. No matter, she says, we still have to weigh everything again to check that it's correct. But....I spent hours doing that?! I'm sorry, she says, you've wasted your time. She does, at least, look very sympathetic. By this time I have a 16st cripple leaning very heavily on my shoulder. I cannot take him out to the car as I will lose my place in the queue, and there is nowhere for him to sit.
Twenty minutes of weighing and we have established that two parcels don't have enough postage on them. We cannot, though, just add extra. Oh no, says the lady, the label would be all wrong. They need new labels. Three parcels have too much postage on them. 'You must take these ones home, go on your computer and cancel the labels and either print new ones with the correct prepaid postage or just put new address labels on and come back here to post them' she says smiling heartily. My cripple leans a bit more. We are both feeling like bits of chewed string.
So, home we trot. I re-weigh the parcels and using ebay's calculator I put the weights in and it still comes up with the same amounts. We take them over to our nearest PO. This time I queue for half an hour by myself. The girl scowls at me and weighs the parcels and pronounces them fine. She also announces that by using the online postage printing I am doing her out of a job. Everyone in the huge queue amassed behind me tuts.
Quite frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. Not right at this very minute. I've spent the best part of a day trying to be helpful because I know that, at this time of the year, you are rushed off your feet. Next time I won't bother. It will be so much quicker......
Gin, anyone?
.......without lights......
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