TNT = Infuriating, Apple = Wankers

TNT Orange ninja cards

So, I know my new iPhone might arrive this morning, I’m pottering around, doing quiet stuff when I should be in the studio, working on the album. Ah well, a half day lost, nothing to be done.

I walk by the front door and…

… some ninja has popped a ‘Sorry we missed you!’ cheery orange note through the door. They can’t have rung the doorbell or I would have heard them. Maybe they just got a mouse to cough politely or something.

I ring TNT. Get a nice lady. She puts me on hold for five mins and then…

Her: “They can re-deliver today.”
Me: “Ahh, great, thanks! When?”
Her: “Sometime before 6?”
Me: “What? It’s 12.20 now, can’t you ring the driver and get an estimate of when it’ll be?”
Her: “No, there’s no way to get in touch with the driver”
Me: “So I just have to waste another half a day?”
Her: “I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do. But it’ll most likely be there by three, to be honest, then they start doing pick-ups”

Sooo…

I wait. And wait. More quietly than a dandelion seed wrapped in cotton wool under a duvet in an anechoic chamber. I daren’t go to the loo or have a shower in case the crack ninjas of TNT whip another orange card through my door before driving off, cackling at their stealthiness.

Three comes and goes. So does four. I’ve now wasted pretty much from 8am waiting on TNT. I get irascible and ring up. Get a very pleasant bloke this time:

Me: (explain history of consignment)… “So, do you know when it’ll be here?”
Him: “Ummm, I’ll just check with the depot.” (Hold for a while.)
Him: “I’m sorry sir, it’s not being re-delivered today.”
Me: “What? But the lady earlier told me it had been sent out again and that it’d be delivered today!”
Him: “Do you know who that was? Because we have no record of that here and the depot says the package isn’t out with a driver. It won’t arrive till tomorrow.”
Me: “So, I’ve just stayed in the last four hours for nothing??”
Him: “I’m very sorry sir.”

I’ll give them this – they’re all very polite.

Angrier than a wasp at a hornet convention, I go to town. There, meeting lovely friends, going girly clothes shopping and hot choc calm my Hulking-out to mere wibbling.

Come home and…

… there’s another fucking orange card! They tried to deliver it at 5.15! What the fuck?

So, I ring up for the third time today.

Me: (yet another run through of the fable) “So… what’s happening.”
New Bloke: “We can deliver it tomorrow for you sir!”
Me: “Great! What time, am or pm?”
NB: “We can’t specify that, sir, it’ll be some time between 8am and 6pm.”
Me: “So, you’re saying I have to waste another entire workday waiting on you?”
NB: “I’m sorry, sir, there’s nothing we can do.”

This is 2010. They can’t ring their drivers, their driver can’t do the obvious thing of ringing me (which Sainsbury’s drivers do all the time when schedules change), they can’t even give an am or pm. It strikes me that this is pretty fucking piss-poor in terms of being a delivery service.

If I don’t get my iPhone tomorrow morning, I think I’ll just let it go back to Apple and cancel the entire fucking thing. After all, it’s Apple’s fault for employing such a drably, comically inefficient delivery service. If you pay £600 for an item, you expect delivery to go smoothly and not turn into a French fucking farce.

Who even knows if I’ll get the fucking thing tomorrow?

I want this day of my life back.