Once again I've had a wasted trek to the local Royal Mail sorting office.
This time it was to collect a recorded delivery letter that they'd called to deliver when I was out this morning. Problem is I was advised on the note to leave two hours before going to collect, but he had forgotten to time and date the note. So I left it nearly two hours and went to collect. He hadn't got back to the office. When I asked what would happen now I was told to come back later or wait in tomorow and they would deliver it then. But they couldn't give me a time. They call that service.
Usually I have to trek down to the Royal Mail sorting office to collect small packets they claim were too big to go through my letterbox. Usually, I'd say nine times out of ten, I get back with the packet and pop it through my letterbox before opening the door and walking in. They only seem able to deliver unaddressed crap that goes straight in the bin. They call that service.
Then there's that other monstrous throwback to the past, the local Post Office. It's very rare I go to the Post Office these days, partly because I do almost anything I used to use the Post Office for online, and partly because the service is invariably crap, verging on hostile. Why suffer that when I can buy a stamp, for example, from a shop with workers who treat you like a human being.
I've never understood the emotionally retarded obsession with saving Post Offices, and I often wonder if these people think we should still be making chariots, or galleons maybe. We should treat these failing organisations like we should have done the failing banks. Let them die.