Today I are mostly be waiting in for people to deliver things. One lot of things are from ANC (not the African National Congress -- I think they're better organised than the delivery company). They tried on Monday when I was out, left a post card to say they'd been, complete with a contact number. Fair enough. So I phone up Tuesday morning and arrange for them to come past today again.
So what did I find poking through the letterbox not five minutes ago, but another bloody postcard. Even though I've been in the house, waiting for them all bloody day they'd managed to turn up, sod about, and bugger off again without actually bothering to let me know they were there. HOW? How the hell is that possible? I've been waiting for them. I've not been listening to heavy metal music at ear-melting volumes, or Mozart on a pair of headphones, I've not been operating power tools, or forcing lumps of camembert into my lugholes, I've just been sitting here, waiting for them to turn up. The loudest thing in the house are my fingers on the sodding keyboard.
So I phoned up the depot to ask what the blue sainted monkey's arse was going on. Not the best of responses from them, I have to admit. Apparently it's my fault they employ bloody mimes to deliver packages. MAKE SOME SODDING NOISE NEXT TIME! How hard can it be?
The best bit was when the guy on the other end of the phone said, "You have to admit that the driver was there..." Well, yes, I do. You got me there. He was indeed at my house. I have the postcard telling me he was there, right in my hand. It's just a shame he didn't try ooh, I don't know... knocking on the bloody door to let me know at the time?
Who knows, maybe the guy's afraid of meeting people. Perhaps he's beardaphobic?
Allegedly I'll find out tomorrow, which is when the bloke who sounded oh, so pissed-off at having to deal with customer complaints, promises me the amazing silent man will be back. Maybe I should take the laptop and go sit in the front garden, just to be sure the wee bugger doesn't get away again?