At 6am, I was woken up by a text from O2 informing me that my parcel was on its way and would be delivered between 3-8pm that day.
Well 8pm came and went and I was still using my same retarded phone. I went to my email inbox which gave me a link to track my order. The link connected me to my O2 personal page (that I had to log into despite ticking the remember me box) which then gave me another link to the UK Mail website. 10 million clicks later, I was finally able to enter my tracking number just to be met with the message 'delayed'.
At 11am on Thursday morning, I received a text message from UK Mail informing me that they didn't think they would be able to deliver the parcel on Wednesday. I'd sort of already figured that one out, and if I hadn't, chances are I also wouldn't be able to work out how to use my new smart phone making the whole exercise redundant.
I rushed home on Thursday to find nothing at my door and no note to say delivery had been tried. In fact, there wasn't even post. Royal Mail seems to take a siesta in my area. When I first moved, delivery was around 11am. On Thurs (2/10), it arrived at 6.30pm. I got excited as a parcel was addressed to my name but I knew it couldn't have been my IPhone 6 because it wasn't UK mail. (You know you've been shopping too much when you've completely forgotten that you've even ordered something. For anyone wondering, it was my Pastry Hi Top trainers that had been delivered, thank you Groupon!). My neighbour had kindly signed for it in my absence and hidden it discreetly.
By now it half 7 and the chances of receiving my phone were growing slimmer by the minute (hmmm maybe I should change my name to IPhone 6...). So I went through another gazillion clicks to enter my consignment number again. The website hadn't even been updated. I found the number to call and was told that they were only open from 7am - 7pm. So I thought I would give O2 the brunt of my frustrations. I went to their 'contact us' section, where they made me dance around the page, refusing to give me a phone number. They broke down the possible query into categories, none of which matched my reason for calling 'to unleash a can of verbal whoop ass'. When I couldn't find a suitable online answer for how to give a verbal ass kicking, I was asked 'still want to speak to someone?' Well given that I hadn't spoken to anyone in the meantime, I don't know why my desire would have changed.
So I clicked on this link and the page was redirected to their online chat page. Clearly, the cyberworld had some how realised that I was angry and decided that no one deserved to be on the receiving end of that call. So I prepared myself to unleash hell in the written format. Despite it being 7.39pm, I was told that Live Chat was unavailable and I should come back between 7am - 11pm.
I had pressed more buttons than required to write all my blog posts put together and was no closer to finding out where the fudge my Iphone was.
So I did what I always seem to do these days, I blogged about it.
I don't really have a problem with Royal Mail. My issue is the postman. He is the grumpiest person I've ever come across. If he hates his job so much, I don't understand why he still does it. He's so aggressive that he almost breaks the letterbox every time he posts something through it. In fact, I think he presses the doorbell so hard that it's shocked into silence, which could be why I never hear him in time. He has superseded my dislike of animals to the point where I have contemplated getting a dog for the sole purpose of setting it on him.
Just in case he was running late, I gave the delivery man the benefit of the doubt and clenched my thighs together for another hour. After eating my dinner, I finally resigned myself to the fact that my upgrade would not be delivered to me that day. Just after I had changed into my pyjamas and freed my bladder once more, the sound of my door bell was almost drowned out by the noise of flushing.
I ran to the door and saw a random man through my peephole and in his hand was a beautiful metallic blue parcel. I threw the door open with gusto and eagerly asked him if he was from UK Mail. He said no and started speaking some sort of gibberish. Or maybe I just switched off in disappointment. Anyway, turns out it was the upgrade but the driver had taken so long to deliver it that he had forgotten which company he worked for.
Off to cover my phone in bubble wrap so it doesn't break and cost me another 8 years of my life waiting for a replacement.