In my opinion, there are two types of delivery driver.
Unfortunately for the people populating the glamorous world of delivering parcels, they seem to be at entirely opposite ends of the Delivery Driver Spectrum. (This is of course a perfectly acceptable term for measuring delivery drivers, ask anyone you know).
The first type is a real treat, but is generally few and far between (as all the best treats seem to be)…Think winning anything more than a tenner on the lottery, or finding a fiver and a book of stamps in an old purse. Or gleefully discovering an old twix (other yummy chocolate is available) stuffed down next to the crusty old box of boring cereal that is only there for when The Parent comes to stay, then finding out it’s still in date and only slightly crushed and mangled!
What is this real treat? Well, of course it’s a delivery man so good looking that it’s positively criminal to keep him locked up in a van entertaining only the motorways of Britain for the majority of his day. A guy who’s courteous and smiles when he hands over your parcel, and says thank you when you’ve signed. A guy who has to scrabble about in a dusty, grubby van hauling boxes about yet still manages to look artfully dishevelled and pulls off that perfect amount of ‘griminess’ before he reaches downright scruffbuckets dirtbag status where you wouldn’t touch him with a bargepole! Mmmmm, a real licky-neck type of guy!
Now I was lucky enough to know one such specimen in my old job…We had a beautiful man pop in every week or so and bestow upon us said smiles in joyful abundance. He even used to place the boxes exactly where we asked for them…..This is hugely rare, I can assure you-they would normally get dumped in the doorway creating a HealthAndSafetyNightmare! (Quel Horreur) We even knew his name, which again is a big thing in the delivery man game, as it means that they’ve managed not to piss off the shop owners enough to have polite chats and receive a christmas card every, er, well…Christmas!
So yes, we loved Dave muchly. (Names have been changed just in case he ever randomly and entirely manages to side-step all known laws of probability and read this post….I wouldn’t want him to be embarrassed if he found himself having to deliver anything to me again!)
What was even more spiffing is that I got to keep Dave when I started working from home! He would knock on my door at silly-o-clock (early for me…I’d rather start at 10am and go on to 6pm. I had to clarify this as all of The Friends would be in uproar if they thought I was telling you all that I was up and working by 7.30!)
Anyway, he’d knock on my door at 7.45 and I’d clumsily stumble down the stairs in random mismatched pjs and ‘bed head’ so fierce any innocent passer-by would think I’d just been tasered. I’d then proceed to mumble through the usual greetings: ‘Hi, how are you?’ Fine thanks, you?’ (By the way, this might just be the most pointless thing to ever utter out loud….No one listens, and if you ever stray from the accepted script with something like ’Actually I’m a bit ropey and my bunion is throbbing like a mo fo’ then the other person looks as though they’ve just been slapped in the face with a stinky haddock, and proceed to scurry off in the other direction whilst trying not to catch anything!)
I digress. Dave. (Bless him!) Anyway, I felt sorry for Dave having to be consistently subjected to my only-just-awake gorgeousness all the time, so I began anticipating which days he would deliver me my sparkly goodies. Cue me bounding down the stairs in full regalia having gone to bed early at what The Parent calls ‘A Reasonable Time’ the night before!
I even managed to make sure I didn’t have last night’s smudged mascara doing warpaint impressions, and spent the last five minutes before he rang the door bell chattering to myself so I could avoid that ‘I haven’t spoken today yet’ lurchy throat groan that always managed to rear its ugly head in the most inopportune of moments!
So Dave’s one of the extremely rare good ones. He has, in the last few months stopped delivering stuff to me, and I miss him! Yes, I know it is very silly of me to get attached to a man I barely know, but he cheered up my day with his alluring grubbiness and cheeky smile!
And so to the other sort. Of which I have had the dubious pleasure of experiencing this very week. This grouchy monosyllabic fiend can be found worldwide, and grows even when you don’t leave him in direct sunlight. He is a weed and impossible to work with. And as that’s probably one gardening metaphor too many I’ll stop there.
I ask you to picture the scene: It’s tipping it down. I’ve just got back home from a jewellery party and I do my usual trick of trampling dribbly footprints all over the post. When I’ve picked it up and discarded all of the rubbish that gets shoved through my door, I come to a ‘Sorry I’ve missed you’ parcel card:
All this pathetic excuse for a human being could be bothered to write was ‘By gate’. I then proceed to grumble about in the rain checking ‘by the gate’ for a parcel. Nothing. Nada. By this point I’m getting soggy hair and the flip flops I’d stupidly shoved on whilst still wearing socks (I know, it’s a hot look!) were doing wonderful yet cold impressions of surf boards in high tide waves. (I’m not even exaggerating-it was that day this week when the heavens opened and we all wished we had Steve Carell playing Evan Almighty as our benevolent, ark-building uncle)
Anyway, to cut a long story not very much shorter, the stupid oaf had flung, yes FLUNG my parcel OVER the gate and into my back garden where it landed with an unceremonious thud on some paving slabs. In the rain.
To make matters worse, it was a glass photo frame I’d ordered with one of my birthday vouchers. Yey, glass! The substance that positively yearns to be manhandled and used as a basketball in a fence-post slam dunk.
To quote The Grandparent: We are NOT amused!
Cue a strongly worded email that will no doubt never be answered and a tense phone call to replace the would-be gorgeous sparkly frame….
After all, I need it to go on my ‘feature wall’ (Lawrence Lewellyn-Bowen eat your heart out!)
(I don’t have a bunion, in case you were wondering!)
Fatty Blob Head