A queue for a ticket for the ‘must see’ gig / match / performance (delete as appropriate to your own interest) can be fun, as indeed can be the subsequent queue, with ticket safely in hand, for such an event itself. These queues have a vibe of their own, you can’t help but be caught up in the anticipation, purpose and optimism of the snaking masses, a life force of its own exuberant intent. What then, makes the queue at the Post Office, the complete antithesis? Is it ….
that, with its snail-like stealth, it is reminiscent of queues in the old days, where food and employment were carefully rationed, slowly apportioned and not always available – this feeling added to by the invariable presence of purposeful pensioners, with their “done this before” glazed expressions?
that the post office queues take in such a cross-section of society in all its glory and with all its purpose – from the exchange of the holiday savings for the currency of choice of the wealthier, to the handing over of the benefit of necessity, of the more impoverished, disabled or elderly members of society, that the queue seems interminable?
to do with timing – you know that you are caught in a race for a window, for at any given time, the Law of Murphy (or other such well known phrase) predicts that as you near the front of the queue, at least one of the windows will close, reducing your options and increasing your wait time. You know that the Law of Murphy (or more particularly the other such well known phrase) is fully responsible for this when this happens and it is in fact also your lunch time and you have spent the whole of it in the queue, sandwich in one hand, urgent parcel / letter / bill in the other.
to do with what amounts to a sensory overload, the experience of waiting, surrounded by the white noise of the grumbling queue, advertising, tannoy summoning the lucky person at the front to the window of choice, upset / tired / hungry / grumpy wailing of some poor child or worse, some poor adult (hopefully not the cashier). Of course, that’s just the sensory overload on the ears, do you really want me to explore and explain the sensory overload on the nose that comes from a prolonged queue at a local Post Office not of my own, but of desperation’s choosing?
a direct result of the fact that so many of our community Post Offices have been closed down, that the remaining branches are so over-run and over-worked, that queues form whatever the time or day, so whilst you cleverly anticpate having missed the pension queue, you actually find yourself nearer to being one in the time it takes you to pop a parcel into the post because the fact is that since the closures, main Post Offices experience little in the way of lulls nowadays, they are all busy all of the time.
Who knows, ultimately, why the experience of queuing at the post office feels like an insight into the queue of poor, misguided souls at Hell’s gate? All I do know is that if you can avoid it, if a courier can do it for you, without the queueing, stress and major time commitment, it might well be wise to pursue some of those courier options.
Saving both money and time has never been more important in life and in business than it is today. Using a pallet delivery to transport large single items or a large shipment is an excellent way to save on both.
Below is a step-by-step guide that will assist you in packaging your goods and arranging transport for your pallet delivery.
What is a pallet?
What are the advantages of using a pallet?
What types of goods are suitable for a pallet delivery?
How to prepare for your pallet shipment.
How to load your pallet.
Finalise the details of your pallet delivery.
Rest assured that transporting your next big item or large shipment using pallet delivery is the best
option. Pallet deliveries are safer, cheaper and more efficient than any other transporting option.
Well, this week’s exchange with courier world completely passed me by, but offered a real head-turning experience to my husband! Let me explain ….
The summer holidays are upon us so, in a temporary respite from the on-going joys of secondary classrooms, Himself and Myself are at home! In anticipation of being ‘around’ this week, I had arranged the delivery of required necessities for a project of the spend-now-to-save-later-kind, of which I am becoming an expert and my husband becoming a despairing onlooker. So, the expected parcel arrived with all due ceremony but with this week’s difference being that I did not have to rush to the front door and try to save the poor innocent courier man from the very enthusiastic (not to mention very forward) advances of our dog, but was able instead to detain her in the kitchen whilst my husband answered the door. After a few moments came the sound of the front door closing and Himself appeared in the kitchen, hoicking his trousers in a manly fashion and with a strange look on his face.
“Well” he exclaimed “that was unexpected!”
I began my usual defence about the necessity of parcel items but he waved away my argument.
“Not that,” I’m sure he rolled his eyes at this point. “That courier….he wasn’t a normal courier man.”
Now, that’s interesting – I’m sure between us at Find My Courier we could (and should) write a checklist on what is involved in being a ‘normal’ courier – is there a type, as clearly some clarification is in order? Anyway …
“He was wearing one of those …. you know…. a yellow one …” he made a strange gesture around his arm pits.
“High vis vest?” I offered helpfully.
“Well, no …. not high-vis but it was a vest, you know, with no sleeves, so lots of bits were high-vis, not the vest, his body … he clearly wanted to show off his tan and his muscles, and he clearly wasn’t expecting me to answer the door. He was dressed like a Chippendale.”
My eyes popped. “As in American, stripper type or old, wooden armoire type?” Clarification was everything at this point, what with the mental image I was building and all.
“All vest and body and smiles, you know …. all, all … swarthy.”
Swarthy! Here is Himself describing Courier-man in the manner of a Jackie Collins bodice ripper, I don’t know who was more surprised, myself or the dog but I do know that by this time she and I were both kicking ourselves (and she was definitely kicking me) for having missed this.
“And do you know what he said?” Again trouser hoicking, clearly his umbridge was bristling. Such body language made it very difficult to hazard a polite guess, it appeared that along with the package, some kind of green eyed monster had been delivered, and asking the question implied that ‘not the normal courier man’ could not have conversed along the standard “I need a signature here, guv” lines, but perhaps the more swarthy approach of: “stand aside, buffoon, I have a special package for the lady of the house.”
I shook my head mutely, I think I may have been pondering the latter.
“He said …” Himself drew to his full height with rising indignation. “It’s heavy … can you manage it?”
I was still mute, largely because I was biting my tongue and both lips to prevent myself from laughing out loud. I think I managed “and …?” to show encouragement.
“So, of course I managed – it’s in the hall and it’s a big one.”
I gave suitable thanks to soothe the ruffled ego whilst Himself waxed further lyrical about the Chippendale of Courier-world, in terms of description that old Jackie would blush before using until, finally, the moment passed. I thanked him quietly again for his help.
“That’s ok. Don’t try to pick it up, if you want it moved give me a shout …. I’m just going to get on up the garden now.” He paused at the back door, dog now at his side, as if her loyalties had never been tempted elsewhere. “By the way, do we have any liniment; I think I might have pulled something?”
As ever, I’d be glad to know your thoughts about the courier-type issues raised in this further true life event – yes, this really is my life! In particular about the ‘normalities’ of Courier-world and interpretations of a ‘high vis’ dress code – I’d love to know!