PostNL, we need to talk

The cheese in the fondue pot was bubbling on the table, the wine went into the glass, Michael Bublé was on, and our Sinter Christmas and New Year could begin. Now you might think: I'm missing the gifts. Well, they were also missing.

Only for half of our group, though. May had neatly shopped in a real store, Lil ordered well in advance, but we got soaked. At least, if you can call ordering on Monday and still not having it by Thursday getting soaked? Yes, apparently so. Normally, I get bombarded with ‘ordered before twelve, thrown into your lap within an hour’, but now we kept refreshing the status. Your shipment has been registered, but it was suspiciously stuck there for a long time. Until the cheese started to harden and the candles began to drip wax on the table. The printer was printing flat gifts, which went into envelopes. The envelopes went into boxes. To tie the boxes with a ribbon. And the disclaimers were flying around. ‘But I really ordered on time…“

On the radio, I've been hearing the comforting message from PostNL for a week: order on time. But we did, right? Three days delivery time, that's almost prehistoric. My card is usually overseas faster than this package is arriving. And did I hear something about a strike? Now, I'm the type that is generally not in favor of strikes, unless it's the parking attendants who can strike until they drop. Not that I don't understand it, by the way, because the strikers do have a point, I just find it so destructive on all sides. With the big bosses, with the hard workers, no one is happy about it.

But back to our packages. They weren't there, so we cheered for printed sheets, which we were no less happy about, but they were printed sheets. PostNL, if you're looking for us, we're waiting by the mailbox. Am I going to post my card for grandpa and grandma now, because if you (and I) don't want to disappoint someone, it's them.