There are terrifying threats. Like the threat of nuclear war. Then there are the empty threats. Like swine 'flu, which is probably a pisser if you get it, but about as threatening as, well, a heavy cold. And then we have the completely pointless threats that resemble a child having a tantrum. Which is how I would assess the threat that the Royal Mail might strike. It would be scary if it wasn't so risible.
See, these days, the Royal Mail are shit. You don't get any delivery before early afternoon. On Saturdays, you aren't going to get any mail at all, even if there is some to be delivered. And Bank Holidays for the Royal Mail now take out two working days either side of the Bank Holiday - which means since they don't work Saturdays, you ain't getting any mail for Friday, Saturday, Sunday, or the Tuesday around the Bank Holiday. Oh, and woe betide you if you happen to be expecting a parcel. If its dimensions happen to be too big for the postie's bag, then all you're getting delivered is a pre-prepared note telling you that you were out when they tried to deliver the parcel. Even if you were actually in. Then you're going to have to go to the Royal Mail depot to pick the parcel that someone else paid to have delivered to your home. Shit, isn't it?
And no, I don't live in the middle of nowhere. I live in a city. Where it should be fairly easy for the Royal Mail to do their jobs.
Of course, this post won't change the way the Royal Mail behaves, and it won't stop the strikes. But I just want it on record - I think that a Royal Mail strike* is about as scary as a pacifist monk in a fist fight. When you are as shit as Royal Mail operative, not working for a day is largely indistinguishable from actually working.
Labels: LFAT, Oh do shut up, Ranting, Royal Mail, Strikes