4th World Postal Services

I simply needed to return a shirt; here things are not quite so simple if you live in a small village.

A telephone call to the suppliers cost me 50 Brit pence a minute and after an automated press this, press that, Joy I finally had a human on the phone, I was given Item return instructions that felt like a United Nations briefing, I wrote notes and thought all was well.

Our tiny towns Post Room (office would be too kind) opens promptly at 9am, at 9:30 he opened the door with massive yawns that would make the grand canyon look like an ants toilet.

I requested a postage bag, No, he has none, but I could go to the big city if I wanted. After using language that would make a hardened prisoner cry like a baby he agreed to bring one the next day.

Next day, opening on time 45 mins late, alas no postage bags, he was not trained in postage bags yet.
I arranged an expedition, horses and supplies as well as a local guide and headed through the mountains to the bigger city, on arrival I was greeted like a foreign invader, but after conversing in the local dialect I was finally in line awaiting service.

I requested a postage bag, questioned as to my motives for the bag I could feel the bright light in my eyes as I was interrogated, my blood taken, DNA was probably taken too.

I took the bag outside as no parcel packing area was provided or permitted, placed the shirt and online payment receipt inside and returned to the line.

30 minutes later I was served, The address I was told was far too long and I had written outside the little boxes, My eyes now glowed red, my breath about to spew fire and brimstone, he relented.

I said I needed the cost of the postage to be placed inside the bag so I could be refunded by the Child Labour employing shirt manufacturer; this prompted a discussion between counters and members of the public and the result was that it was not possible, however some Senora behind me suggested I photograph the receipt, brilliant idea, this caused some sighs of derision amongst the yellow shirted staff, but I did as suggested sealed the bag and paid a whopping sum over, along with Gold, Frankincense and a bit of Myrrh for good measure.

Returning home after an overnight stay with some Nomads who were apparently going to the big city to buy camels I telephoned customer services In London who after some time said that I had not followed instructions and I may not be refunded the return postage, she was only 3 years old so I assumed she needed to go potty as the call ended.

As we are a universal bunch, how are your postal services?