One day I’mma throw a nail bomb into the DHL main office.
I had a lot to do last week but all my light bulbs blew and my headphones too, so I thought, you know, as a citizen of this wonderful century, surely I can just restock my supplies by ordering online and having everything delivered to my door. Delightful!
Except I fucking can’t.
Seriously, what’s even the point of Amazon Prime if they ship with DHL, the nidus of the single most incompetent shitfuckers on the planet (next to DPD)? The entire premise of online shopping is to NOT having to leave the house. DHL defeats this fucking point. I’m home the entire day because I work from home, and Friday night at 18:52 Amazon hits me in the mouth with “Oh oops, guess you weren’t home when we rang right the fuck now, guess where your parcel is?”
Again, home the entire day. Definitely between 6 and 7 pm. I have the sneaking suspicion that DHL only employs the kind of people who used to play ding-dong-ditch as kids, and now they’ve advanced the fucking game to nope-nope-ditch-get-it-the-fuck-yourself.
So where the ever-loving hell is my parcel, you may ask? Did they put the order in the DHL parcel shop up the street from me? No. Did they put it in the parcel shop down the street from me? No. Random pizza place way at the other end of the district? Yes.
In that moment I just think, fuck it. I’ll leave it there to rot. I’m not going there. Everything in my body is trying to move itself into the general direction of the other side of the solar system, that’s how much I don’t want to go. I will eat your children! You fuckers gonna bring the fucking thing here! But of course they don’t. And I already paid for that shit, so… urrrrrrrrggggghhh.
So the following Monday I gather all my strength and go. But not so fast, dear reader! First the transport needs to be sorted out, which drives another nail into my coffin. This isn’t exactly the largest European city. It’s actually one of the smaller ones. So why do I need 36 minutes on public transport just to get to the other side of my really small district? At this point I’m like fuck it, half an hour on the train, half an hour on foot, to-may-to, to-mah-to, I’ll just walk.
By the honour of Google Maps, I have to power… to get lost regardless because I have as much sense of direction as a dyslexic beached blue whale. Finally get there. I see the random pizza place that doubles as a DHL shop. It’s right in front of me… only problem is that the shop is on the other side of a six lane semi-motorway that someone thought was a bright idea to build in the middle of the fucking town. That’s the kind of street you can’t cross without injury unless you’re literally the Flash. It reminds me of every fantasy novel when the hero’s party gets to a mighty river and have trouble finding their way across. Only with a river all you need to do is throw a rope to a tree at the other side and then move hand over hand along said rope. You can’t do that in an urban setting. So I, the stranded hobbit, look desperately for a crossing. There are two, one 2km in one direction, and the other one 2km in the other direction. While Google is panicking and telling me to “proceed to Arghlblrargl street 15” like a wizard who overdid it with the pipeweed.
After what feels like two hours I’m finally on the other side of the street and proceed. The pizza place seems to be doing more business hoarding parcels than with pizza. Probably because it looks like really doughy pizza and they make burgers with tomato sauce. Who in the hell does that? Old lady at the counter checks my ID and goes on the hunt for my package. There are a lot of packages in the shop. Like, a lot. So it takes a while. Maybe she’s taking so long hoping I’ll get hungry and get a pizza, too. I’m not hungry, I’m angry at the world. The only thing I’m feeling peckish for is a lightly fried DHL delivery man, preferably with teriyaki sauce. Anyway.
Get package. Get out. Get to decide which pedestrian crossing I want and decide on the one on the other side, because I naively assumed it would be a wee bit shorter because the mess of wiring above the street looked like it might lead to a traffic light. It doesn’t. It’s not shorter. It’s right down at the train station, in fact. Google is panicking again and I yell “Shut up!” Get weird looks from people around me. “No, that wasn’t to you, I was talking to… Google.” Time to shut the fucking app, I guess. And since I’m at the station, I decide, fuck it, which at this point should be my life’s motto. Might as well take the underground for two stations and walk the rest.
One thing of interest at my stop is that there is exactly one elevator and approximately 376 people who want to get on it. So, again, fuck it. Might as well take the stairs instead of waiting for the third elevator. I still got some serviceable legs. You know that one underground station in London with the like 1000 steps? This one is similar. Nothing tells your asthmatic ass to start working out like going up those flights of stairs.
Now fast forward. I finally get home. Struggle with my keys. Tear into my parcel like a hungry tiger and hug my lightbulbs to my chest. My pretties! My pretty pretties! Now if only one you doesn’t work I’ll destroy the fucking Earth.
And this is why next time I’ll just go to the fucking store myself. And why I declare open season on DHL delivery men.