Since we’re on the subject of shite institutions, I’m nominating the Royal Mail. Like a lot of the country, my part of England endured the kind of downpour that would have worried Noah. We currently have a new postie who, like a number of his predecessors, is a complete fuckwit of a cock womble. Even when it rains, this brain donor carries the post for the next few houses in his hand, instead of his bag like he’s supposed to.
Unlike us non-retards, there are a number of posties who seem oblivious to the fact that letters, which are generally made of paper, do not respond well to getting soaked. Yesterday, I received an A4 sized envelope which contained copies of my pension statements and details, which I’d had to send to the British Legion for a matter they’re helping me with. The envelope was so wet, it had disintegrated before the dumb shit had even brought it anywhere my house.
Consequently, a lot of personal info such as my NI number, bank details, pension details, full name, date of birth and even my Army service number became available to the postie. Now I’m not accusing him of stealing my identity or anything like that. However, it needed to be signed for and nobody was home at the time he tried to deliver it, which means it spent the night at the local sorting office, where EVERY Royal Mail employee who worked there had open access to it.
So this morning, after picking up my soggy mass of papier mache, I made a call to the main office in Manchester and got through to the lovely Charmain, who made it clear that she could not have given less of a fuck. After struggling to keep my calm, and threatening to make a personal appearance, I was put through to a manager, who turned out to be only marginally more intelligent than Charmain. Nice bloke though, I’ll give him that. He wasn’t sure what it was that I wanted apparently, and seemed surprised when I told him that I wanted the offending postie spoken to and reprimanded for not doing his fucking job properly.
He said that he’d look into it, but somehow I’m not convinced that will happen. How is possible that a supposed adult could not summon the wit to put the mail he was responsible for, into his fucking post bag, to stop it getting wet? So, Royal Mail, what a bunch of cunts.
Nominated by Quick Draw McGraw.
