Wednesday, December 19, 2012
I wrote a lengthy, detailed post about FedEx's second failed attempt to deliver a package to me yesterday, despite the fact that I was sitting quietly in my flat all day waiting for them. I was angry, angry, angry. Every other delivery person can find our apartment, but FedEx not only can't call me, ring the bell or leave a note letting me know they've come by -- they apparently can't even get to our front door. I only learn this hours later, when I check online tracking.
In the past few weeks, this has happened five times with two different FedEx packages.
When I mentioned this incident on Facebook, one of my friends wrote: "Here's the deal: the FedEx delivery man finds it far simpler to just take everything back and say that nobody was home than to actually go through the motions of delivering the packages. He probably spent the day in the pub. You need to speak to somebody higher up."
Which I suspect is true.
I deleted that post, because although it was cathartic to write, it seemed impossibly whiny and self-centered in light of the much bigger issues playing out around the world. I mean, things could be worse, right?
Besides, FedEx got in touch with me and promised to get my package delivered later this week. We'll see if they succeed.
Meanwhile, I am getting the heck out of the house today.
(Photo: Completely unrelated motorcycle guy on Portobello Road, Monday.)