Parcels

We are coming to the time of year where my front room looks almost exactly like an Amazon warehouse.  I am happy to take in parcels for my neighbours – it’s kind and, well, neighbourly.  There are quite a few younger people on my street who seem to work full time plus hours and it isn’t such a hardship to say yes to the delivery guy (who probably has a terrible job and loads of parcels to deliver within mere minutes).

However, I am mildly irritated with the owner of one parcel.

Here it is

I took it from a panicking delivery driver who was running late.  Problem was, the label said:

“Jack Ryan (not his real name), Basement Flat – push the bottom buzzer hard, [My postcode]”

And that was it. Since I don’t actually know Jack Ryan, this kind of left me with a problem.  My street includes a whole bunch of houses that have been converted into flats (including basement flats) and I was imaging having to write out 15 to 20 notes to ask if the parcel was for that address.

So, I started off Googling Jack Ryan and got a result at Imperial College – I had a look at his LinkedIn profile and he looked like the sort of person who might live in a flat on my street.  I emailed him with a picture of the label and asked whether it was for him.  Then, when I didn’t hear back from him, I rang him (at work).  The Jack Ryan I got was kind and actually quite appreciative … however, he doesn’t live on my street (or even in north London) so it wasn’t for him.

Then I did a bit of Facebook stalking and sent messages to the two Jack Ryans I found who live in London.  Then I posted on NextDoor to see whether anyone knew him.  I fretted over it a bit and my Mum told me that it was using up too much headspace and I should just open the parcel to see whether it had a delivery note.  I did this (even though I suspect it is illegal to do so) but there was no such note.  I tweeted Amazon to see whether they knew who it should be delivered to.(they said that, as I am not the person who it is addressed to, they can’t tell me).

I went for coffee with a friend who said “For heaven’s sake, this is ridiculous.  Just take it to the Post Office and mark it Return To Sender”.  I was just about to do so when I got a response from one of the Jack Ryans on Facebook to say “Thanks for the message will come and collect ASAP”.  Turns out the delivery driver had put the while you were out card through the right door, totally by chance.  I’d been fretting with no need.  So Jack Ryan said that he was away but his housemate would come and collect.

And he hasn’t bloody come to collect it.

Sorry – this was a bit of a dull post.  I just wanted a whinge.

 

3 thoughts on “Parcels

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