Due to the disintegration and subsequent disposal of my "holy" Trezeta Peaks I was in the market for a new pair of knocking-about boots. Nothing technical, just something suitable for the lowland walking required as part of the cardiac rehab programme.
I found some on clearance on the Go Outdoors website - the reviews were middling but the price was right so I took a chance and ordered a pair. All I had to do was sit back and wait for them to arrive.
Of course, that's when it started to go awry. Go Outdoors did their bit perfectly - I was kept informed via email and they sent me a working tracking-number. It was the courier that managed to conjure a balls-up from what should have been an easy process. I waited in on the assigned day, referring hourly to the tracking page that kept telling me that the goods had been scanned as "out for delivery" at 08:45 on Tuesday. Sometime after 16:00 I checked again only to find it telling me that I'd been "carded" at... wait for it... 10:24. No way! I'd been in all day, at no time more than 30ft from the door, and I'd seen nowt, heard nowt, and there wasn't a card.
I got Go Outdoors to contact the courier to find out WTF was going on. The courier insisted that he'd called at and left a card at our house, "the one with a white door" but he couldn't confirm that the door bore the correct number. Hmm... most of the houses in our Close have a white door. Anyway, the boots were on their way back to the distribution hub and couldn't be redelivered that day. I insisted on a redelivery before noon the next day.
Not content with the Tuesday balls-up, the courier tried to compound the error on Wednesday. True, he did arrive in good time, but my correction of his "Hello, mate" to "Hello, sir" didn't go down well and the parcel he bore didn't look right. He got annoyed when I took the time to inspect what I was being asked to sign for - it was an insulated polystyrene crate with "Fresh Food - Handle With Care" or something similar printed on the sealing-tape. I took great pleasure in refusing to sign for it, pointing out bluntly that he really should try harder to match the address digits on the package label with either of the two sets of digits identifying my property - the food parcel was for number 11, we're at 20-something. After uttering a curse he took back the food parcel and threw it through his open driver's door. It hit the passenger door and fell onto the seat, I assume that the contents didn't benefit from the impact.
After much rummaging in the back of his van he emerged with another package. "Definitely yours, mate!", he proclaimed. "Definitely yours, sir!", I insisted. Of course, I took some time to inspect the package, just to be sure, but eventually I signed for it and took it indoors. I expected him to return immediately to his van but in a final act of dumbness he looked around, turned back to me and asked "Which one is Number 11, mate?"
What else could I say?
"You mean "Which one is Number 11, sir". Try the one with the white door".
He scowled and drove the 20 or so yards to number 11. Or it could have been any number between 9 and 14, I really couldn't have cared less.
I think that there's a lesson to be learned here - courier drivers should be capable of visually comparing digits even if they're unable to actually count.
Oh, and I've yet to find out who received the card, if it ever actually existed.
Anyway, the boots are fine. So far they've been walked into town and back and have done light duty in the garden and around the house. Later this week I might treat them to a walk to the pub followed by a stagger home. I'll keep you posted about how they fare in wilder parts.
Trezeta Cyclone Mids. Cheap, very comfortable, durability TBD.
