So I just got off the phone after a 25 minute conversation with some wanker that works for the Swedish post office. I’m not happy, but I’ll have to go back a month to explain just why. So bear with me. When I got in from work on August 4th I found that the nameplate that sits on the front of my letterbox had been ripped off by an over eager postman. Not really the end of the world, but slightly annoying. Turns out the postman had tried to squeeze a book through our tiny letterbox and managed to pull the nameplate off as he attempted this.
So like you do (or I do), I phoned their customer service number. I sat in a queue like a good boy, and then in a calm manner I explained what had happened. Someone will either phone or write to you within a day or so I was told. Cool I thought, that was easy.
A week or so goes by, but of course I hear nothing back. So this time I fire off a slightly more aggressive e-mail to them, explaining everything yet again, leave my phone number and e-mail address again. A couple of days pass and I receive a written response asking me if I could phone them since they can’t find any record of my original complaint. Now I hate talking on the phone at the best of times, so I write back and tell them I don’t want to phone again mainly because this is such a simple thing, and I don’t really want to spend too much of my life having to sort it out. So once again I run through what has happened, and of course leave my e-mail address and phone number and all that. You know, just to make sure.
On the 27th August I finally get a call from someone that is dealing with my complaint. I ask him who he is, what his job is etc - just to be certain that I’m talking to the organ grinder and not the monkey, if you know what I mean. It saves a fuck load of time down the line if you sort that stuff out up front I find. So his name is Joakim and he is the boss at the post depo that delivers my post. Good. So now we should be getting somewhere, right? Well not really. He asks me to go back through what happened. I tell him I’ve already written it down numerous times so why should I go back through it? Turns out he just has my phone number and e-mail address and knows that something has happened, but nothing more. So once again I explain everything to him, and then ask him if he thinks this is good customer service? He doesn’t have a clue what I’m on about though. After all he’s phoning me now isn’t he, just a little over three weeks since I made my complaint. Twat, I think.
Anyway he says he’ll have a word with the postman. Okay I say. And then he has the nerve to start to say goodbye. ‘What about my letterbox?’ I ask. ‘What about it?’ he responds. I explain that the nameplate needs putting back on. He seems genuinely surprised that I expect him to either pay for it to be fixed or come and fix it himself. Does the ‘I’ll speak to the postman’ line normally work then I think? Surely not. You can’t just fob me off with that. He asks my address despite the fact that I’ve sent it to him 3 times already. I begrudgingly tell him it. Again. But you know what? Joakim is springing into action. He’s actually going to come out to where I live and examine my letterbox. Glory be. Action. Wow. I’m impressed (can you tell?).
Except he can’t actually do it until five days later. He wants to know what time I’ll be around on Wednesday? I tell him very clearly that I have absolutely no interest in meeting him. If he feels the need to look at my letterbox he can do that quite easily without any help from me. Before we finish our conversation I ask him to write to me in future, since that way I have a document of what he says rather than a vague memory. Of course he will he says.
Except he doesn't, instead he phones me on the Wednesday and leaves a message. I phone him when I get in from work, but he’s on his way home on the bus and says he can call me tomorrow. Again I ask him to write to me instead. Today he calls, fuckwit that he is. Twenty five minutes later, I finally get to hang up the phone. So here’s the thing, he admits that the postman was wrong to force the book through since it was obviously too big, he acknowledges that it would have been a good idea for the postman to have at least put a note through my door explaining what had happened, he admits that they are responsible for breaking the letterbox, but, and this is the real clincher, he doesn’t see why he should have to fix or pay for any repairs. It’s not about the money I tell him, it’s the principle. Clearly a concept Joakim isn’t familiar with. I ask him why he hasn’t written? Turns out he didn’t have my e-mail address. He has it now and promises he will write everything to me later on today. Do you think he will? I asked him if he considered this good customer service? I told him that I haven’t even received an apology for their fuck up. Joakim, ever the professional took it all on the chin, and squirmed away on the end of the phone. I could almost hear the little voice in his head begging for the conversation to end. So I strung it out just out of malice.
‘So did you at least speak with the postman?’ I asked. Turns out he did, but my postman was on holiday when it all happened. ‘So did you speak to the actual postman who broke my letterbox? Which is the very least you could do, and something you promised me would happen.’ I asked, trying to remain calm but getting close to having nasty visions of cruel things happening to Joakim. ‘No, since that person was just a summer temp and they’re back at school now.’ He replied. Great. What a guy. He then goes on to inform me that maybe it would be better to not have the nameplate on the letterbox, but glued to the door instead. What are you my fucking interior designer I nearly scream at him. I don't though, I stay calm and inform him that our front door is from the 1930s, and that sticking bits of metal on it so that it might be easier for the monkeys that deliever my post to do so without destroying anything isn't really on.
So I asked him just what the fuck he actually did, since he couldn’t even manage to talk to the correct person. He waffled on and in the end I told him in no uncertain terms that I thought he was a waste of skin, and that he probably shouldn’t be doing the job he's doing. Maybe something more like washing up in a restaurant kitchen would be closer to his skill set. And with that I let him off the hook, to probably go and have a stiff drink, or laugh about the angry foreign guy who actually thinks that when we fuck up someones letterbox, that we should do the right thing and fix it. I have his name, and finding his address would be the simplest thing. I really hope that nothing bad ever happens to his letterbox, since that would be awful. Wouldn't it?
