Package Control????

March 10, 2010

Another red card is dropped into my little black mail box telling me I of course missed the mailman and he has a package for me. Of course not being able to deliver the package, they send it to the depot on the edge of the city where I can pick it up for the next seven days. I must admit, I am not sure if this means seven working days or just seven days and I do not feel the need to test this theory. So logging onto the internet and the Royal Mail system, I request my parcel to be delivered to the local post office. This package has went from the main depot to my apartment back out to a depot a few miles away and now is being delivered to the post office six blocks from my apartment. Yup, the English and saving the environment. Anyway, I am sorry to say the package was not my delivery of Reece's peanut butter cups and peanut butter M&M's. Something much more important to a person living abroad.
Leaving work early and catching the train home to pick up my package, I am greatly pleased. I have escaped work, the train is on time and I will make it to the Post Office before it closes. Ok, one more rant. Does the USPS and Royal Mail share ideas? If you are a normal office worker, how do you ever make it to the post office? It opens after you go to work, closes as you are leaving and they always seem to have a holiday to be closed on. But I made it to join the line of twenty to thirty people being served by two cashiers. Holding my red "Sorry we missed you" card and making sure I have my one pound fifty to pay to get the parcel delivered back to anywhere near my apartment, I have time to watch the comings and going of the working English. I count the number of people now in front of me and try to guess which happy cashier I will get to talk to. I watch as the cashier who is dealing with currency exchange get up from her booth because nobody is doing any business with her and go and stand drinking tea. Not my job to help customers unless they want currency exchange. I watch as the supervisor deals with a rowdy customer in the "payment" line who can't understand why if he is from another town twenty miles away with no ID they won't cash a personal check for him made out to his mother. I watch as the supervisor disappears somewhere behind never to be seen again. I watch as another cashier finally opens another window. I see a person walk up to a window in which the cashier had finished with the previous customer but wouldn't talk to the next customer until she had hit her button saying, "Window number 4" over the speaker.
I stood in line until the speaker would call out again at my turn. "Window number 4." Smiling I hand over my card to Sheila.
"Do you have any ID?"
I take out my Minnesota driver's license. Complete with photo, holographic loon reflection and signature.
Sheila looks at my license. She slides it back across the counter under the rabbit hole.
"I am sorry, but that is not acceptable. Do you have any other form of id?"
Now at this point I am thinking this is kid of funny. I have my canceled driver's license which I then hand over to her.
Sheila looks at my second photo id. "I am sorry, this isn't a valid id. Do you have a British driver's license? Passport or bank card (Atm card)?"
I and her my ATM card which has my name printed on the front of it like normal ATM cards.
Sheila looks at the card and hands it back. "I am sorry this isn't signed. I can't accept this. Do you have any other id?"
Now I must admit that I am started to get a little annoyed. I hand her my credit card which has ask for id written on the signature line like most smart people do. Nope, no good. I hand her my book card which is actually signed. Nope, it isn't an acceptable form.
Now I pride myself on the fact I am polite. At this point wen she asked if I have any other form of id, I started to loose my good humor.
"I just gave you two driver's licenses with photos and my signature."
"I am sorry sir, but they are not valid. They are not acceptable as English driver's licenses. They are not even EU standard." Well, duh. I am American with an American driver's license. "Do you have a passport?"
I replied to her. "Yes, I sent it off to be renewed and that is what I am trying to pick up right now." I can't decide whether I should scream, laugh or cry at this point.
"I am sorry sir, but without a valid id, I can't give you the package."
"So none of my ids are good enough, but the id I need to use is in the package I am trying to pick up."
"I am sorry sir, but we need to maintain the security of your parcels. What if we gave them out to just anybody."
Yup, I know this is a big problem in this country. I have the receipt of the package when I mailed it. I have the card with my address and name on it which you left telling me I was out. I have two forms of picture id from another country. I have a wallet full of cards with my matching signature issued in this country. I am telling you what is in the package and I can open it in front of you which will have my passport in it. Yup, big problem with package security here. Obviously, the criminals are much more sophisticated than back in the states. They sure as heck go through a lot of trouble to attempt to steal a package from the local post office.
Sheila gives me a glimmer of hope. "If your bank card was signed, then you could pick up your package."
"So you want me to sign my bank card and then you will give me my package?" Laughter is starting to win the struggle as to what I should do.
"I am sorry, but you will have to leave before you can sign it."
"What? You mean you want me to step out of the line, walk over to the counter where you can see me, sign my card, stand in the line and come back so you can give me my package."
"If you want sir, but I won't be able to serve you. You will have to go to a different window."
"WHAT?" At this point I am actually laughing. I step four feet away, sign my card and step back into line. Back to the watching game. As I progress to the windows again, I count the people in front. I should get window two. Too bad, a lady with a screaming child messed it up. My turn. "Window number 4" announces over the speaker. I really can't stop giggling.
The nice little old lady behind me thought I was one of the most polite people as I let her go in front of me to go to Sheila in window four. I got window two.
The lady asked for my id. I handed her the now signed ATM card. Five minutes later she had to apologize as the package had not been delivered from the depot yet. She must have thought I had lost my marbles as I walked away laughing.
The next day I returned to the post office. I counted the people in line. I counted the cashiers. When it was my turn, the speaker announced, "Window number 4." Laughing as I walked up to the window and slid the "Sorry to have missed you" card through the rabbit hole. "Do you have id?" Sheila took my signed ATM card which I should mention has absolutely no picture on it and got my package from the shelf. Security?? Maybe if she would have asked me to sign for the silly thing once she handed it to me, I might have felt a little better. But then again, she had seen enough of my signatures the previous day she probably could do it as well as I can.

Rules and why

January 21, 2010

It is an easy a way distinguish a midwestern American from an English person. Ask a simple question about whether something can be accomplished and even if you can't hear the difference between the accents, the reply will always give away the answer. Maybe it is the rules the English surround themselves with resulting in the term of "nanny state." I was reading a newspaper article and came across a story about following the letter of the law over common sense. Where I feel most midwesterners would simply understand the intent of the law and move beyond the letter of the law, here as is common, the letter of the law is important.
Just before Christmas, a mother called in to report an abscence for her young son from school. Giving the reason, the mother felt it would be a reasonable request that her nine year old son be given time off. The son returns to school the following week without comment. The next week, the mother again phones into the school explaining her son's abscence from school for the next week. All seems to be all right with the school.
The week before the Christmas break the school holds its party for the students who have had perfect attendence. The mother is told her son is not allowed to attend the school function because of his poor attendence record. The boy obviously is distraught, his mother is upset. Mother calls school to repeat the reasons for the boy's abscence. The lady from the school explains the school has set the policy to cut down on abscences and no exceptions could be made. The boy can't go to the party.
Ask most English people if a task is do-able and they will give you a list of why you can't do it or accomplish it. This I think generally comes down to an aversion to change. Ask most midwesterners about a task and the response I always got was "Why can't you do it?" A question versus a statement. Seems funny such a little thing.
Oh, the mother and her boy. The first abscence was on account of his father dying and the mother trying to deal with the boy's grief. The second week of abscence? That was for the funeral. When the school was contacted about it, the head of the school explained the abscences had been cut down because of the idea of a party for students who hadn't missed any school. In this case, the mother had talked to the wrong person apparently. Makes one wonder if the mother was talking to the school secretary and assistant to the head of the school and it was the wrong person, who should she have talked to. The boy didn't get to go to the party and the school kept its reasons why he couldn't.