Post Hock

I recent became an External Examiner for a northern institution, and naturally they send me parcels of essays that I scrutinise with all my powers of anal retentiveness. At some point I noticed that Secret Campus had crept into my address, but didn't as such mention it, as the mail was getting through. Of course, I've told R that I've moved, but it was still the same address.

After all, Big Publisher seem to think I'm in The School of American and Historical Studies, which was news to me.

And I do have mail forwarding. It's been forwarded.

Ho ho.

It was only I thought I'd better point out the change of address that things went wrong. Two parcels went astray. Not to worry at first, these things take time, and, besides, I don't have the time to do the work. So it wasn't until the back of last week, four days after posting that I decide to chase.

You've think you could find the phone number and address of a sorting office. Nope, you're wrong. I eventually found a national number, but apparently first class post can take up to fifteen days.

First class.

Fifteen days.

Ponder and wonder.

So, could it be that they tried to deliver to the old address and have left the card? Well, it looks closed up to me. So this morning, after my masterly defence of my PQMERXYZ (apparently I can't include quotations from students praising named staff) at the Priory, I took the sort cut to the Shorting Orifice. They look and look and look and neither parcel is there.

I trudge home, via a supermarket, watch an episode of ER, try to get into work mode or look for porn (same difference, right now) and find an email asking for my phone number from the administrator at Northern University. She's going to do some tracking.

Yes, the parcels are at the Sorting Office, they tried to deliver last week to the address and left a card, and will try to deliver again tomorrow, and she didn't give them my new address so as not to complicate things.

I've already mentioned how I don't use the secret campus address if I can avoid it, because the mail seems to go to the other Dr A, but she still hasn't twigged that I'm talking about a home address rather than a university address which is a street address not a building. I point out delivering to my old address will not come any closer to getting me in the same room as the parcels. Then she twigs. My bad, I suspect.

Apparently it's deliver to that address or collect from the sorting office. Guess where I'll go tomorrow after sitting alone in my office all morning?

I'd love to know what their excuse for them being there last Tuesday and tomorrow, but not today.

Edit:Actually sitting in my office alone would have been a better option than the one that I undertook, that's another - probably friends locked - story.

I wandered up to the sorting orifice, and he spent ten minutes looking, in various places and in various books. I love that even though we have 12 digit identification codes that they are looking stuff up in ledgers.

Eventually he sent for a superior who told me that the parcel has now been delivered and signed for. Unfortunately it seems to have been delivered to my old address and signed for by someone who was not the person on the address slip. I have a number to phone to try to discover who signed for it. Quite what they'll do with a parcel of sixty essays I don't know.

Joyness, naturally, continues to abound.

To be Continued