Just the courier?

JUST THE COURIER?

Now, before I start a topic loosely connected to bread-makers, I wish you to know, in my defence, that I am not a Guardian reader. However, as you do know, I’m aiming to do more for myself and to do it more cheaply and healthily where possible too, so I have taken delivery of a bread-maker. Evermore thrifty, this was not the hidden expense it may seem, being purchased at a bargain sale price with gift vouchers received at our recent wedding! Its delivery was eagerly anticipated and it arrived in due course, via an independent courier, you know, with his private car, an obviously well-loved Volvo, filled to its ceiling with parcels from many of those well-know High Street retailers who offer home-delivery services.

I opened my front door to this very smiley Courier-man, who very obligingly placed the substantial (albeit totally ripped open) package on the doorstep, whilst petting my delighted dog with one hand and digging out his electronic receipt gadget with the other. We were enjoying an agreeable exchange (well, he and the dog more to be honest, I didn’t get much of a look in) when we both noticed that the wind had whipped up around us and the parcel wrapping was disintegrating before our eyes. A single sheet of paper broke free of the wrapping confines and blew off down the road. Courier-man watched its fluttering escape, looked first at me, cheerfully announcing: “that’s your packing note, that is”, then at the dog.

There passed the briefest moment whilst silent, individual decisions were made, then both Courier-man and the dog set off in pursuit – he of the sacred packing note and the dog of her new-best-friend. Both returned, panting and triumphant. As I re-received the packing note, this time safely into my hand, with sincere and grateful thanks (I do not do running), I commented on the state of the packing that had led to this adventure, asking if the parcel had come to him like that. Courier-man looked at me blankly, still affably, but blankly.

“I wouldn’t know, I’m just the courier.” He shrugged and offered me the electronic receipt gadget.

I hesitated. “By signing this, am I saying it’s in good condition? Because actually …..” We both looked at the wind-ravaged parcel as he moved it carefully into the relative shelter of the hall, his smile still pleasant, but a little thin and more tired around the edges now.

“It’s in a box in there, sure it’s OK…” he began, “and anyway, I’m just …..” he turned his attention back to the dog.

I dutifully signed, as he had been so kind and all, and he left with a cheery goodbye and an expressed wish to leave behind the jumble sale of a parcel and instead take the dog. But his words struck me …. “just the courier”. Is this how couriers see themselves or perceive that they are seen? Do I, as a customer, see the Courier-man as part of the service I have paid for (as it were) or, if privately contracted, is the courier outside of this remit? Then if so, into whose remit does it fall to be responsible for the state of the Cinderella of parcel-land, sitting in tatters in my hallway?

Now I am sure that every single courier who works with Find My Courier has a motivated and responsible attitude to their clients at both ends of their parcels’ journeys, but what of their attitude of or to themselves – just the courier? A minority opinion or an occupational mantra, I can’t believe it’s the latter? Let us know how you feel about this!

PS: In case you were wondering, the breadmaker was broken inside its box so Courier-man had to come back the next day to pick it up. In the spirit of silver-linings, the dog, it has to be said, was delighted!

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