Courier Condundrum…

Indulging in some weekend television, I decided to watch ‘Nine Months’ this afternoon.  An advert popped up (they tend to fairly regularly) about short term loans.  This one was implying that it was better than the others, as you can take 6 months to pay the loan back, which is nice.  Except that, when you read the bottom of the screen (yep, I’m one of THOSE people), the APR is over 3000%.  Yes, that’s right, OVER 3000%!  Which, I’m sure you’ll agree, is totally ridiculous.  The smallest amount that you can borrow is £80.00, and if you took the 6 month option, that could cost you £1280 (I think.  I’m not that great at maths.  Even if that’s only close to being right, that is shagging well ridiculous!), and that is why loan companies are evil.

But I’ve already done a blog about the ridiculousness of store cards, so there’s really no need for me to rant all over again.  (Believe me, I need no encouragement to behave like a broken record and complain about the same things over and over again.  Just ask my Lovely Friends, to whom I still whinge about various injustices that happened at around the same time as our GCSEs.  Ten years ago.) (Ooo, I’ve just made myself go a bit funny.  Was that really ten years ago?  I’m still trying to decide what to do when I finish school.  Which may explain my career path…)

So, clothes ban wise, it’s not been a bad week.  As Darling Sister’s birthday is the day before mine (I know, not great timing on my parent’s behalf, it makes for a rather expensive week), I’ve been looking at birthday presents for her.  Even though she’s picked up the keys for her very first flat this week, and would probably prefer gifts such as kettles, toilet brushes or duvet covers, I think it’s safe to say that at least one of her presents will be clothing related.  Because it cuts down on the guilt – I’ve spent many happy hours this week perusing various online retailers, finding some lovely things (and even Lovely Mum pointing out in gentle tones ‘buying that in your size isn’t really going to impress Darling Sister is it’, (she’s 7 inches taller and several dress sizes smaller than me.  And thinks nothing of voicing her disgust if people buy her things in a size 12, until she sees me giving her a ridiculously Mean Stare, and then backtracks furiously. It makes me chuckle every time.) and ‘is that really something that she’d like?  Really?!’ haven’t put me off.  Although my experience with a ridiculously inept courier company nearly did put me off buying anything.  Ever.  (Maybe I should buy things from companies that I know use awful couriers, so that it puts me off shopping forever?  It’s a thought…)

Anyway, back to reminiscing – I’d found something that I thought Darling Sister would really like (even though it wasn’t cushion related).  So I ordered it, cunningly asking for it to be delivered on a day that she was working.  Except that it never turned up.  I spoke to the couriers (whose name I won’t reveal.  Although I don’t know why I’m bothering, they were so ridiculously rubbish that they deserve to be shamed) who said that the driver had run out of time (poor planning in my opinion, he should have used his accelarator more, and his brakes less) and asked them whether I could collect the…ahem…item from the depot, as Darling Sister was on a night flight, and would have brutally beaten me had she been woken up to answer the door (also, it’s her present.  I don’t really want her to see where it’s from).  They agreed that this was absolutely fine, so I prepared to beg my (very understanding and nice) manager to let me take a slightly longer lunch, in order to get to the depot, several million miles away (ok, half an hour away).  Then, I decided to double check that I could collect the item without a card.  Apparently not – even though I’m willing to bet that the driver didn’t even make it to my village, never mind my road, he’d put in the notes that he’d left a card.  I don’t wish to cast aspersions on his character, but he’s a liar.  Anyway, after repeating this argument several times, it became clear that I was getting nowhere, and not only could I not collect the parcel, but after the nice man on the phone had confirmed that there were notes on the system stating that the order should not be sent out for delivery on that day, he reliably informed me that it had been sent anyway.  So I asked whether I could have the parcel delivered to my work address.  No, apparently,  Then I asked that the driver be contacted and told not to deliver the parcel, he ummed, ahhed and muttered, then said that the systems were down, so he’d have to call the driver.  As if this was a ridiculously unreasonable thing for me to ask him to do.  So I asked him again. 

Eventually, before I took my phone, put it on my passenger seat, drove to the depot and battered him with it, I said goodbye and spoke to the company directly.  They were brilliant, helpful and arranged for the parcel to be delivered to work the following day.  It was there when I arrived at work, and the girls were all very excited.  We opened the package up, and Darling Sister is going to hate it.  So now I have to return it.  Unless I can get down to a size 8 in the next 5 weeks.  That’s fairly unlikely, and would probably count as cheating on the shopping ban.  I’m thrilled, as you can imagine, and Ireally, really hope that UKMail have absolutely nothing to do with the returns process.  Oops, I may have just given away the name of the rubbishly rubbish courier.  I feel bad about it.

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