Comforting smell of stale dank piss in the Post Office queue. I'm not even sure if the deralict building which I stood in earlier was a Post Office? Yes they make you queue for an age, sell stamps, take parcels off you which eventually arrive at their destination sometime later; but it's more of a shithole than a Royal Office.
... and whilst I'm on familiar rants.
WH Smiths; stop giving me little shity bits of paper. I know I've raged about this before, but it appears to be getting worse. Every purchase made results in receiving a voucher for something or other. It use to be a single piece of paper, but now it's often a trio of pointless scraps.
The whole principle is that you retain the voucher for a later date (usually two weeks plus after the original purchase) and they obviously assume that most will simply discard them before they can be used.
Well I'm wise to your little game Mr & Mrs. Smith; I've been retaining all those little scraps of paper in a plastic wallet and sort through them before leaving the house.
75p saved on a greetings cards. In your face Smiths!
No comments:
Post a Comment