“Oh, hello is that Customer Service?”
“Last time I checked.”
He sounded like he had been having a bad day. Best I keep it brief and to the point so he can get back to tossing fragile parcels around the office to keep his spirits up.
“I wondered if you could explain Division 6.2 of the 2005-2006 Edition Technical Instructions for the Safe Transport of Dangerous Goods to me?”
“What the ****?”
I think he must be new.
“I’ve read your website list of prohibited items and this part isn’t very clear.”
“I’m trying to import some produce from another country and your standard parcel rate, at three sixty a kilo, seems very reasonable. I just need to know if it’s legal.”
“We can charge whatever we want. It’s called a monopoly.”
“Quite. Could you explain the dangerous goods instructions to me please?”
“No. Tell me what you want to send, and I’ll tell you if you can.”
He didn’t sound like the type of person who was up to speed with the ins and outs of the camelid species. I’ll have to keep it simple.
“It’s a fresh product originally from South America.”
“We don’t have the monopoly in South America.”
“It’s not coming from there. An acquaintance has done all the hard work and he has the refined product on his remote farm in Wales.”
“Yes, he says he could easily send me a kilo a day.”
“A kilo of what exactly?”
Sadly, it seemed that I had not yet reached his level of comprehension. I’ll have to try speaking in language he’d understand.
“Yeah, really good s*** from Peru via Wales.”
“And you want to post it?!”
Not the most convincing sales technique I’d ever heard.
“Yeah, I need to get it here quickly so I can mix it up in my garden.”
“Obviously I don’t want it to burst open when it gets put through my letter box; so I’d appreciate it if you could get the postie to lob it over my back fence.”
Oh dear, it sounded like Division 6.2 of the 2005-2006 Edition Technical Instructions for the Safe Transport of Dangerous Goods included a section on Alp-p-paca waste. I just wish I knew what it said. Maybe he had gone to look it up.
Meanwhile I’d have to tell G-G-Gareth to hold his pooh.