The sky's the limit - no, hang on, make that Enfield

This little post chronicles my jubilation, first of all, at finding a very nice 2-metre kite to play with. It's an Ozone 2 Imp in grey and blue, and has a bar, like a grown-up kite, so that I can practise. So I'm just waiting for it to arrive...

Except it didn't arrive, because I was out. What arrived was a yellow card from DHL. So far so good. All you have to do is call one of the numbers on the card (there are two). 

0845 0261378 is an IVR system. It invites me to type in my parcel number and the depot number. Then it asks me to do it three more times before saying it can't recognise the number and will put me straight through to the depot. 

The depot is out. I imagine in Enfield either there is a fire alarm or they are all on a fag break. Or both. 

Now I try the second number, 0870 2400 555. This is the same IVR. The same thing happens - it sends me straight to the depot. 

The depot is out. I imagine in Enfield they are eating their sandwiches, perhaps playing a few games of darts. 

So next is the DHL website. This is designed for clients who want to send things, not customers who want to receive things, and is also global, so I keep having to choose country and other unencouraging things (if they don't know I'm in not in Surinam, how can they possibly know where my kite is in Enfield?). There is no sign anywhere of an Enfield depot. Enfield is 'not found'. 

Google DHL Enfield until I find a nicely-produced PDF brochure, for people called 'Data Assessors', which lists all the DHL depot numbers. Goody. Enfield is found. Try the number: 0870 44 44 828. This IVR has a male voice. But then it puts me through to the same lady IVR. Who again doesn't recognise my parcel number. 

Back on the internet. Google turns up another number: Try 020 896 33 618. At least this is geographical. A nice woman answers and tries to help me. She tells me my parcel number has one digit too many. It should be ten and it's eleven. What colour was the card I was left? Yellow? It all becomes clear. I need DHL Blue. Try...

0870 2400 555. This time ignore IVR and wait for an operator. Tell the woman that answers I am looking for Enfield. She says 'What's on your desk? Euugh!'. I am puzzled until I realise she is talking to a colleague. Remind her politely but firmly that she's talking to a customer. Silence. For about three minutes. I can hear her breathing, but she's taken umbrage. She's looking at the map trying to find Enfield. Am I familiar with the Victoria Industrial Estate? I tell her that's not Enfield's address. She then suggests I try...

0870 44 44 288. This is a nice man who finds my parcel on the system and doesn't complain about how many digits I have. I ask to arrange redelivery, and he reveals, with a sort of comic dramatic flourish, that he can't, unfortunately, arrange redelivery, madam, because this is Borehamwood, and we can't arrange redelivery for Enfield's parcels, can we, madam? He is triumphant. I imagine he is going to tell people in the canteen how there was this woman on the phone this morning who...Anyway, I tell him, lamely, that I was given this number as Enfield's. I can hear him not saying that you can't go telephoning any old number when you want Enfield, can you?  He suggests I try...

0870 44 44 828. A gravel voice answers, redolent of late nights, whisky, and Silk Cut. She has a reassuringly London accent, but it sounds like I've just woken her up. Hello, DHL? What's your parcel number? Oh hang on. Dunno what's up with my system. What did you say? 921? Oh. 981. Oh God it's not Friday yet, is it? (Here, she amuses herself to the extent that she has a paroxysm of coughing. I remind myself once again to give up smoking). Yes, well we can arrange redelivery tomorrow, probably around lunchtime. Dunno what the traffic will be like though, and how much he'll have on. Between 12 and 3.30, that be alright? 

Since I don't currently have a job, what else do I have to do? I will be riveted to see how much he has on. 

PS. Friday. Nice man arrived at 1, fully dressed. Ironically, I was in a dressing-gown - he got me out of the bath.