Today has not been the greatest day ever so far. An endless night with an adorable, chirpy-arse one-year-old who just didn’t seem to know or care that it was 3:00am; mystery technical bugs at work; oncoming cold; and then there’s these cunts.
I have managed to piece together, from parcel tracking, that it must have been my dear well-meaning brother who has tried to send me a gift using these fucking rodeo clowns as couriers. He is travelling, and the package came from Turkey which was one of his known locations and to be honest I don’t know anyone in Turkey who would send me a package otherwise.
PostNord may have been his only option.
Now, I don’t run a package-delivery and logistics business, so I can’t pretend to be an expert. But I would imagine that (a) reading the address on the package and (b) getting the package into the hands of the people living at that address are the main things you need to do in order to do this job. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you also need to (c) be great at arranging bunches of flowers into humorous dick-shapes. Maybe they’re fucking awesome at that. I hope so, because they suck at (a) and (b).
The first I hear from these guys, it is when we return from dinner at my cousin-in-law’s place on Friday night, about 10:30pm. There is a note stuffed in our door saying, basically, “we tried to deliver a package, we missed you, call to arrange a new time.”
Fair enough. Happens a lot.
Now, first of all, their delivery times are 16:30-21:00. This is actually pretty cool, if you work. It means they’ll come in the evening and drop off your stuff. Not sure who they were expecting to be home at that time on a Friday, but okay. Let’s be honest, under normal circumstances we would have been. We’re not that social.
They also sent me a “we missed you” text message, but my phone was dead at the time so obviously I didn’t get it. No foul to PostNord in this case.
Then, they tried to deliver again. Without us calling them.
This time, it must have been at about 11:00am on Monday morning. Because I was out for my walk when I got a text message, same as the last time.
The text message included a number to call and arrange a new delivery time, so I tried to call it. I ended up in a queue. And the recorded voice told me I was being charged for waiting in the queue.
So I hung up and decided, quietly and non-judgementally, that they were cunts. It happens.
I went to their website to lodge a complaint. Or just a suggestion. Pursuant to point (b) above, I thought, why not send a text message before you come to deliver a package? A text message the package recipient can reply to and say “sure, thanks, I’ll expect you in an hour.”
Because sending one after you’ve missed us? Pointless and infuriating. Especially since you actually leave no recourse to reschedule.
Oh yeah, this is an illustrated journey. Although the illustrations are mostly also text.
The website also offered an electronic means of rescheduling your delivery, but you had to login with your tracking number (which I had used to determine that this mystery package was coming from Turkey), and a barcode (not provided anywhere, but which I have since tracked down to the wad of paper they stuffed in my door on the first failed delivery attempt). So, no login, no electronic reschedule.
I may have been a little rude about it, but I didn’t send this to them.
So, I did finally get a response from their customer service team, and got around to trying to reschedule the stupid delivery. That’s when this started to happen.
Needless to say, I will not be recommending PostNord to anyone who wants anything delivered anywhere, ever.
I don’t care how good their floral cocks are.