{24/11/2012}   Deliveries

Much as I appreciate certain things about internet shopping, awaiting deliveries is guaranteed to make me wish I’d gone to a proper shop and just bought it and carried it home myself.  Yesterday, I waited in for something.  It arrived in the morning and all was fine, but that has not always been my experience.

I don’t live in a block that has a porter, I don’t work in an office where I can get things delivered to and I am not usually at home during weekdays, and often not on Saturdays either.  I don’t mind Royal Mail deliveries being missed as it’s easy to walk to the sorting office and collect something, especially as they have evening and weekend opening times.  However, in the past I’ve ventured to corners of London I’d never been to, usually industrial estates in areas lacking outstanding natural beauty.

I once had a delivery to my house in Whitstable (annoyingly, I missed it – not knowing it was going to arrive that day – by about 30 minutes) and was given re-delivery options that I couldn’t agree to unless I took a day off work (yeah, right, especially as I’m self employed and can’t do my job from home).  So I had to drive to an industrial estate in Ashford, for which I wasted time and petrol.

I, probably like anyone who’s ever ordered something to be delivered, have also waited in all day for something which hasn’t arrived.  You then have to resort to phoning and being subjected to automated messages which never off the choices you have in mind.  It’s enough to send you back to the High Street!

A friend once ordered a bed online.  It arrived on the designated day, fine, but arranging a day took a while and he had to wait a long time.  Then when it arrived it transpired that it was two halves of two different beds, part wood, part painted so not interchangeable.  He then waited another few weeks – weeks – to get the correct half to the bed.  He was calmer about it than I would have been.

What is it about deliveries that makes you want to go out more than you otherwise would?  As soon as I know I am tied to the house, I want to go out.  When I first arrived in Japan, the company I was about to work for offered us a luggage delivery service whereby our heavy stuff would be delivered the next day as we had to go from the airport to an office and on to our new home.  The bags were due to arrive any time from 8am.  My new flatmate arrived the day before and both of us were up early in the morning so decided to go for a pre-8am walk.  It was great, we had an early morning wander, got a few bits of food in, had a coffee and got home pretty much bang on 8am.  We then waited in all day for our bags, which didn’t arrive.  We phoned the office and it transpired the delivery was attempted at 8am.  They must have been slightly early.  Very, very annoying.  It arrived the next morning at around 8am!

I don’t know why I felt a need to complain because my delivery arrived in the first minute of the time slot I was given, I happened to be at home and all was in order.  But all the horrors and stresses of awaiting deliveries came back to me.  How I miss living in a block that had a porter.


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