Continuing theme, I guess. This particular tale dates back to 20th October, and has a happy(ish) ending, but, for once, is almost a sympathy vote for couriers. Whatever else, it reminds me that I would hate to have such a job, and that we really should be grateful that such an overwhelming proportion of goods bought online arrives safely.
To set the context, I live on a farm in a very quiet area of Eastern Scotland. My postcode is shared with a few dozen other houses, over an area of about 1000 acres (no, really), so this is The Land Where Sat-Navs Struggle. The particular hamlet where I live, as the small number of readers who have visited me may be aware, is especially challenging, since the house numbers were allocated as the buildings became residences. Sometimes this means the date the house was built, sometimes it is the date it was converted to a house from something else. Thus, for example, a walk around the square of cottages which forms the heart of our little community will reveal that No. 17 (which was formerly a granary, I understand) is between Nos. 10 and 11. There are other examples of randomness, accumulated over 150 years or so; this is child's play to an experienced local postie, but for weary couriers from faraway, logical places like Edinburgh it must be very trying.
One (occasional) result is that the driver will fail to find the correct address altogether. Another (more common) is that parcels are delayed; a self-employed, gigging driver paid by number of deliveries will spend his time more profitably delivering several parcels to a sizeable village like Whitekirk than trying to find one house in the middle of nowhere on a farm. Frequently the parcel will be handed on to whichever poor chap has the following day's shift - in such cases, the official explanation in the courier firm's online log can make entertaining reading:
THE HOUSE WASNT THERE
THE ADDRESS IS WRONG
etc
Sometimes, alarmingly, it might say
DELIVERED TO HOUSE WITH BROWN DOOR AND LEFT IN SHED
which is not so good if you live in a house with a white door.
By and large, things go surprisingly well. Drivers who have been here before are usually all right, but there seem to be a lot of new delivery drivers. Maybe that is where the UK's vanishing taxi drivers have gone.
A positive new development is that now you usually get a photo of the parcel sitting in the open door of the delivery address, which is a result of social-distancing measures introduced for Covid, but is also the first form of satisfactory evidence we've had (signatures are legally meaningless, apparently).
Righto - enough, already - back to the 20th October. I had ordered some fairly routine stuff from Amazon (shave gel, for a start...), and I received an email from DPD, the courier, announcing that they had my parcel and that Derek would deliver it between 10am and 10pm. Good lad, Derek - it was a dreadfully wet day.
I received a succession of meaningless updates during the day, all to the general effect that My Main Man Derek was on his way, and eventually, long after dark, I got one final email announcing that Derek had delivered my parcel, and was the delivery great or not so great?
Ah - it might have been great, Derek, but it was not here. Not having a parcel to celebrate with, I downloaded the delivery photo, and there it was...
I messaged a couple of neighbours, but no-one knew anything. Eventually I put on my waterproof jacket and Tilley hat, found a flashlight with a good battery, and set off for a short walk.
Found it - I recognised the doormat, and there, sitting on it, getting very wet, was my parcel - it was correctly addressed to No. 13, but had been delivered to No. 3. It was very dark and wet, and the driver must have been very fed up. I knocked at No. 3 - no answer, so I took possession of my package and trotted home.
In subsequent conversation with the occupant of No. 3, who is a very pleasant young lady, she said
"I told him this was the wrong address - he must have just left it there."
Hmmm. Maybe he did. Alternatively, maybe she realised it was the wrong address after he'd gone, and just stuck it on the doormat in case he came back.
A small mystery, which is of no consequence, but consider the odds. An employed driver knowingly abandons a parcel at the wrong house? - maybe. Or my neighbour, interrupted while watching a TV movie (or whatever), assumes it is someone else's problem, and abandons the package to the elements, though she could have kept it for me, or let me know, or walked the 300 metres or whatever it is to deliver it?
It doesn't matter at all, but it amuses me that, in her heart, the neighbour knows that I know that she knows that I know that she didn't do very well. No hard feelings, and nothing further will be said, but I have a moral edge...
I think the photo shows that she should know that you know, if you know what I mean.....;-)
ReplyDeleteNeil
Yes indeed - bang to rights, as it were. A propos of nothing, a delivery driver here once observed that we must have excellent parties in this hamlet; in fact he was absolutely wrong - since the farm no longer employs workers as we used to know them, the houses were all sold off, and the residents out here are mostly reclusive people like me, who would have to be dragged screaming to any kind of social event. Having said which, a few of the older ones are dying off now, and we have some younger neighbours (someone must have said this of me, 20 years ago!), so perhaps some more positive sense of community might emerge.
DeleteGod, I hope not...
I though the community spirit up there was supposed to put us Sassenachs to shame. The people in my steet have always brought me stuff that was delivered to them by mistake - I suppose the difference is they only have walk tens of yards rather than hundreds.
ReplyDeleteThe distance doesn't help, and it was a very wet night, but she could have sent me a Facebook message and put my mind at rest.
DeleteI guess the community spirit in fishing villages in the North is probably stronger than in areas like here, populated by refugees from cities! Nomenclature: bear in mind that East Lothian (where I am based) has always been firmly in the land of the Sassenachs (the Saxon-speakers) - no Gaelic traditions here!
The real issue, I think, is that the supposed immediacy of a digital age means that I need to know NOW where my effing parcel is, and will fret about it, whereas 20 years ago I'd have assumed it was around somewhere and waited until the next working day to chase it up. It isn't reasonable for me to expect a neighbour to disrupt her evening on my behalf when she is only a bystander!
So it can still be blamed on the 'Saxon-speakers' - why am I not surprised.
DeleteChan eil fhios agam, Rob.
DeleteI have to say, banter is probably more effective if it makes some sense. Try again?
Fun, isn't it?
ReplyDeleteMy house is in an early 20th century terrace, and as there were no houses on the other side of the road then, numbers run consecutively, 1-18, rather than the more usual alternating on both sides of the road. I live at no. 14. After every six houses there is a passage giving access to the back, and the houses on either side of this passage have their front doors on the side, not the front, if you see what I mean, so numbers can't be seen from the road.
What invariably happens if we have a new courier, is he'll spot No. 10, (who have a house number the size of a bin lid, visible from space) count two houses to the passage house and dump my parcel there. He'll then send me a photo of the door (with a very visible No. 12) and socially distance himself at high speed.
As the occupant of No. 12 is also a young lady (possibly related to your neighbour) and I don't always check my emails every day, it can be a bit hit and miss how long I have to wait for my parcel. These couriers must be on a very tight schedule sometimes.
This is a regrettable tale, which I think goes to show the dangers of over-education. In this instance, an unnecessary awareness of the principles of the arithmetic progression has led to potential disaster. What is required is someone who will walk from house to house (forever, if required) until he finds a house number which matches exactly the one on the parcel - he may hold the parcel up so that he can compare directly. That's how they would do it in the Army.
DeleteYes, I think they are called postmen.
DeleteI work for a courier company in NZ although I am not a courier and I can tell you, they dont have time to search for the correct house. Our couriers here are independent contractors, they get a (very) small fee (equivalent of 25p probably) per item they ;pick up or deliver. Our whole network is really designed for B2B and not B2C - a few years ago, one of the largest courier companies in the UK collapsed under the weight of residential deliveries - they had more freight than they could deal with, but were making no profit from it. The basic problem is consumers want free delivery and the eCommerce retailers give it to them by screwing the carriers rates. We have introduced a residential delivery charge (called Pricing for Effort) that adds $2 for any residential address delivery. Our business area couriers can deliver several hundred parcels per hour on their first morning cycle (0600-0900) but residential couriers struggle to do 12-16 per hour - so they are generally in subsidy (the company tops up their income to an agreed minimum daily $) RURAL is even worse - imagine traipsing around trying to find the right farm track to deliver one parcel to! So in conclusion - I agree with your initial comment the "we really should be grateful that such an overwhelming proportion of goods bought online arrives safely." :)
DeleteThanks for this - well expressed and valuable info for us all. We live, I fear in an age of imagined entitlement (we are led to believe such is the case, anyway), and much hysteria results if we have any disappointments. The tale of the Princess and the Pea comes to mind...
DeleteI’m sure it’s of no practical benefit, but the moral edge that this has created for you will give years of a slight sense of superiority. It should be held and treasured.
ReplyDeleteAgree wholeheartedly. Such opportunities are rare. I am (uncomfortably) reminded of a tale from my years of gainful employment, which I need to get off my chest [grit your teeth...].
DeleteThere used to be an annual horror show at my work called The Directors' Supper Party, which followed the announcement of the Company's valuation results. A random selection of the Moderately Great and Wise were invited to rub shoulders with Sir Charles and Sir Henry and the Earl of Invercockaleekie and the rest of Lord Snooty's pals, in an ecstasy of self-congratulation. On one such occasion I was one of the chosen, and after I had put in what I considered a respectable attendance time I excused myself and left. I went to the Directors' Cloakroom to collect my coat, and came across the head of Internal Audit, also leaving early, packing a number of bottles of the Directors' finest 25-year-old Macallan into an overnight case. I had neither the time nor the appetite for a scandal, so I just raised my eyebrows at him, and he gave me what in the Frank Richards books would have been described as a fierce grin, locked his case and left with his swag.
I saw him at meetings occasionally thereafter, and I definitely had an edge, but I was also kind of implicated by my silence, and felt bad about it - we used to avoid eye contact, basically.
About 6 months after the event this chap was suddenly fired, very quietly and efficiently, as was the way, to avoid corporate embarrassment. He had been grossly fiddling his expenses, going to expensive professional conferences in the US which were really just sponsored holidays, he had obtained one of the company's laptops for his wife's Open University course and he had - it seems - stolen some very expensive whisky from the Directors' Supper Party. He was convinced that I had shopped him on the whisky count, but in fact I hadn't (though should have) - a member of the catering staff had seen him. He never mentioned my being a witness, and I was delighted when he had gone. Watch out for unwanted edges...
If my neighbour comes round to borrow a cup of sugar, there will be no problem.
In the delightfully suburban area where I live the streets are all named after the family who used to own the land…
ReplyDeleteMable, Mildred, Henry, William, George, Patrick etc etc… it’s not a small place so they must have been a busy old lot…
Anyway… The delivery people seem to get a bit confused by this…
It’s not the numbers they get wrong…it’s the names…
I often get things for William… which is three roads away from me… but I think I have had deliveries for most of the ‘names’ in my local area and some from further afield… Gordon being the furthest .
The number is however always correct… all us number tens are now starting to recognise each other on street…
I imagine it’s the same for the others 😁.
All the best. Aly (at number 10)
That's interesting - for one thing, it suggests that they don't use the postcode? I'm going to worry now about why it works like this - the postmen must package up bundles of mail in some way - sorting by number then by street would be a poor effort - have you got some new posties? Hmmm - I'm going to worry about this.
DeleteIt’s the non postal Amazon type delivery that gets it wrong…
DeleteI suspect it’s someone who thinks they know the area…
I believe that there are a number of other Midland towns who have a similar family based naming system…
Hmmm! I wonder if that bottle of port that went missing is now somewhere near Wolverhampton .
Yes - it makes sense that it should be a different challenge for posties and couriers - less different out here, where the postie may have 1 letter for the whole area, but our posties usually rely on personal knowledge.
DeleteI ordered some cat food, it was despatched in two lots each of two parcels. So four parcels. The usual courier only delivered three of them. When I pointed out that one of them was missing he responded by telling me to go online to complain. Luckily he also took a picture of the three parcels. The label even showed 2 of 2 on the parcel that had its twin missing. The courier denied all responsibility despite the photographic evidence they took. The retailer sent a replacement parcel which was delivered by the same driver who called before. The missing parcel never turned up. How they can lose a well packed parcel beggars belief. The courier customer service was abysmal
ReplyDeleteThat's a weird one. I had a similar experience last year - it was the seller's mistake, but ay one point they tried to blame it on the courier. I needed some of the big batteries that go in flashlights - Amazon offered a twin pack of the batteries at a slight saving, so I ordered 2 twin-packs - i.e. 4 batteries altogether (this is very like your cat-food puzzle). Very quickly, a huge box arrived - at that time Amazon were sending out oversized boxes, stuffed with masses of brown paper. In a dark corner of the big box there were 2 single batteries - of the right type. When I checked my order details online, it said that they had successfully delivered the 2 items I had ordered. I gave it a couple of days and nothing further arrived, so I got onto Amazon's chat service, and they couldn't understand why I had a problem - I had ordered 2 battery products, and had received 2 - the only tick-box the girl on the chat conversation could find that was appropriate was "order incomplete", but I would have to take this up with the seller (marketplace strikes again), since Amazon's records showed that the order was in fact complete and signed for. I contacted the seller, and was told that it must be a courier problem, since their record (which was Amazon's record) showed mission accomplished. Eventually Amazon themselves suggested that I was entitled to return my purchase, as I was not happy with it, and start over again. So I did - I returned the half-order, expecting to be pulled up for only returning half, but they refunded the full price and I bought 4 separate batteries elsewhere at a better price. I suspect that a lot of stuff that gets returned just goes to landfill because they can't afford to check it...
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