I’ve been expecting a parcel for the last few days, not a big deal but if I could get hold of it before I went away it’d be handy.
Since I’d be gone before the post was due, I thought I’d try the local delivery office see if they could snag my post for me before the postman set off. Unfortunatly the phone number for the office only gives you a voicemail, so I went down in person.
The amorphous blob on the front desk (the eponimous subject of this rant) started going on about having to look through hundreds of lorries to try and find one small parcel and how it was more than his jobs worth!!!
Since he wouldn’t get a manager for me, I left.
Luckily one of the postmen was coming out at the time, so I explained my situation and he nipped back inside to get me a manager.
He looked about 15 (guess I’m getting old), but was more than happy to check the round and get me my parcel. So a big thanks to the two that helped me, but to the the tw*t on the desk – I hope your next shit is an epileptic hedgehog!!!
* Insert your own vowel
