post office debacle
'Oh, the queue is still coming out the door!'
'Why is there only one staff behind the tills?'
'Wonder if I'll be dead before I get to the front'
'How do they get away with it?'
'Post Office obviously think I have nothing better to do than stand here, may have a point'
'Wonder if there is a reason for being'
'Wonder what the chances are of Raquel Welch sleeping with me? I mean she's quite old now so that must even up the chances??'
'Wonder if my ex-girlfriend will ever forgive me when I told her I was mentally putting clothes back on her. I mean I did buy her a virtual fur coat.'
'Please, God, make this queue go faster: the idiot in front of me has awful bo and the guy behind has been drinking, I can't take the smell, please, please do something, don't you have smellvision up there?'
'Oh, don't brush your hair, adjust your chair, chat to your friend, count your coins, just flick the button for 'cashier no.5' and I can get out of here'
'Great, she's gone on a fag break rather than serve me ... oh great again, one person serving and he's got that idiot with a mountain of 2p bags he wants to exchange for euros ... oh great the euro till is not manned so the counter guy will just have to sit in the bureau de change chair ... oh great again, that means no-one is serving, thanks euro man, you twat!'
Just some of the things on me mind as I kill time yet again in the post office. It is hard not to feel utter hatred for mankind when your standing there. And lots succumb to that. At my local, the police have been called; threats of fights and all that, and last tuesday a guy said he'd wait outside the post office until the counter guy finished work so they could 'sort it out man to man'.
A whole new meaning to customer relations, methinks.
Who is to blame for this debacle? Where did it all go so wrong? And make no mistake the Post Office is getting 'wronger' as each day passes.
Two words: Adam Crozier. The so-called chief executive of this third world service. You know him: the guy with the permanent smug expression on his face as though he's counting every penny of the fortune he earns for delivering a service that is second to everyone. Crozier's the one who in a previous life was FA overlord and hired fellow smugster Sven Goran Erikson as England manager. The result of this masterstroke? At a cost of millions we were eliminated at every quarter final via penalty shoot-out heartache to anyone who could kick a ball straight.
And now the counter staff are doing a John Terry and are nowhere to be found.
My experience is the same as million of others. Worse than some; better than others. You see, they decided to privatise my Post Office a year or two back. I suppose the thinking was they would save a fortune: give the private company a couple of weeks training and then leave them to ignore the public instead. Make no mistake: the service was poor when it wasn't privatised: now it's just worse than worse. Nice people behind the till but a 'have a nice day' doesn't compensate for having no day left by the time I'm finished waiting for my 'have a nice day'.
The so-called opening it up for competition hasn't changed things one iota for most people: there is the Post Office and nothing. And nothing and the Post Office are one and the same.
Another blow. Raquel Welch won't sleep with me. Even in my virtual world her agent has told me to get off the phone.
© ~ Paul Page
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