Behind me the queue stretches back fifteen people.
Ahead of me there are four people, one of whom is propping open the door. I can’t see how many people are inside or just why it’s taking so long.
“I was here in the rain yesterday”, I hear someone say. We had to shelter under there while we waited. Where I was yesterday it didn’t rain it hailed. I’ve only got a suit on and the sky is getting blacker.
A bloke two ahead of me sighs and gives up and I can finally see into the office where people are waiting to pick up undeliverable parcels.
The bloke behind the counter takes the card and with a look of resignation disappears from view. We wait for him to return. We wait, and wait.
The last time I was here there were two people doing this job and through the inner door was an office with green painted racking with numbered cards sicking out in places. That time the card was taken and the postman took a few steps to the book to check the number and a few steps more to the racks, compare the number and back to hand it over to the person waiting.
We wait for the return of the parcel and I watch the people inside. Gone are the green racks and in their place are new pigeon silver holes with barcodes on them. People bustle in and out, use barcode guns and pick up parcels and head off out to their rounds.
We wait for the return of the parcel and all the faces in the queue (well those in the office or at the door who can watch) turn expectantly to the window as a little Mrs Tiggywinkle like lady wanders close to us. She will help ! But no, she stamps a piece of paper and disappears back to her silver pigeon holes.
Our postman returns, “Sorry it was stuck in the last bin right at the end”, he says handing over the parcel. He’s averaging 5 minutes per parcel now, the pace has been picked up.
Outside the reason for the lack of customer parking is becoming clear. Every car belongs to a postman who parks there to load up his car before heading out on their rounds.
I look at my card. There’s a number to call. I try it imagining that I can speak to someone inside and at least get this bloke some help. The number turns out to be a central system with nine options, none of which are complaint lines.
Distention breaks out in the ranks. Cries are raised of, “Why can’t they help ?”, “Who do they work for ?”.
The problem is that they took a working system which looked efficient and replaced it with one person, a long walk, chaos and the impression that there are loads of people behind the scenes who do nothing more than have friendly chats amongst themselves and don’t care about the people queuing in the rain.
Finally I’m at the desk and I hand over my card.
“Any idea what this is ?”, he asks me with a look of resignation.
Postal deliveries by car increasing risk of thefts | UK news | The Guardian
“The security of the Royal Mail is being put at risk by widespread use by postal workers of unauthorised private cars to carry mail on their rounds, the Guardian has learned. Growing numbers of postmen are using their own vehicles to transport postal sacks, placing the bags at risk from thefts and break-ins.
According to the Communication Workers Union, managers at several depots encourage the practice or turn a blind eye in an attempt to meet delivery targets. Even in cases where private car use is authorised, the union says managers often fail to carry out document and risk assessment checks to ensure vehicles are roadworthy and secure.”
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