Postcards From Across the Pond

In fact, they rarely ring at all, and occasionally don’t leave any post.

The first was a birthday card. (Yes, my birthday has come and gone. Some time ago, so don’t bother wishing me a happy birthday. It’s all behind me now and I’m resigned to having entered my eighth decade.)

I was touched by the Postal Service’s concern for the card. It was from my son and arrived wrapped in a clear plastic bag with a note plastered to it assuring me they cared about me, and my mail, and had therefore—having noticed the envelope was torn—placed it in a sealed bag for safety and my convenience. Not before, however, they helped themselves to the $50 Barnes and Nobel gift card that had been inside.

Getting deliveries is always a bit of a crap shoot. This is because we never know who is bringing them—the Royal Mail, the Postal Service, or any one of a few dozen delivery companies—or what their requirements might be. Some insist on a signature, some insist on a “safe place” if you are not in, others don’t seem to care one way or the other, a few try to stuff everything—regardless of size—through the letterbox, and at least one enjoys hiding parcels under the stairway.

One recent delivery involved a ream of 8 ½ x 11 inch paper so I could do my US taxes (don’t get me started). I was not notified when the delivery was going to happen (nor would I have expected to be; it was a ream of paper FFS) so, as usual, I was not in. This did not suit the delivery company, who insisted they needed a signature (for a ream of paper, FFS), and therefore did not leave it. All they left was a note accusing me of not being in when they attempted delivery, and the promise that they would send the parcel back to where they got it from.

I was gobsmacked, and sceptical, but days later, my account was reimbursed, and I never got the paper. All I can say is, it’s a good thing that doesn’t happen with my medication.

Being paperless, however, did not cause the consternation that being without my cigars and pipe tobacco did.

In this instance, I did receive an indication as to when the delivery would take place. It didn’t matter, however, because neither of us would be in, and I just assumed the delivery person would leave the package, or not. As it turned out, I was unexpectedly home at the appointed time, but the package did not arrive. Then, some time later, I received an email telling me it had arrive. So, I went to search for it, and it was nowhere to be found.

I had been home, no one had rung the doorbell or knocked on the door, and I had not heard anyone in the hallway. Clearly the delivery person had not even bothered to enter the building, and had simply taken the item for themselves. (This did happen on another tobacco order: the delivery person left an empty, opened box, and no explanation.)

I was bitterly disappointed (it was the first warm day in a while, and I was looking forward to a cigar on the balcony) and also out a considerable amount of money. And so, aggrieved, I clicked a link in the delivery email and left a review telling them exactly what I thought of their service. Then I found the email from the tobacco company so I could tell them I had, once again, not received an order. That email had a link to the delivery timeline, so I clicked it.

Turned out, the package had been delivered, and there was a photo to prove it. Only the photo was not of my door.

This deepened the mystery, and made me think I probably owed the delivery company an apology; they had obviously delivered it, but where?

Then I took a second look at the receipt, and saw that, because I had not ordered from this company for such a long time, the delivery address on file was not up to date and was, in fact, two addresses ago. A review of the photo confirmed it was outside the flat we had moved out of in 2014.

My wife informed me that those flats now had security doors and that I would not be able to gain access to the building but, undaunted and determined, I drove across town and found the security doors wide open and the package just where I thought it would be.

“Well, so much for security,” my wife said when she saw the package.

I nodded in agreement, but she didn’t notice because I was out on the balcony smoking a cigar.