The postman that does the rounds in this area has to be the most miserable sod ever created. He stands up to the typical ‘Belgian stereotype’: moody, silent and very, very Flemish. Oh, and customer service? Yes, well, I think that’s best left aside.
I dislike stereotyping any nationality, but whenever I do see groans and moans from expats about Belgians, my postman is the first person to come to mind. He is also perhaps the only one seeing as the women at the post-office here appear to have got their act together and no longer refuse to speak French to me after a vain attempt at speaking Flemish which never results in very far other than “ik heb een letter voor Engeland…” and if I do manage better than that then they reply in full flow with the result of my asking them if they speak French or English (said in perfect Flemish).
No, my postman really takes the biscuit. When it’s cold and wet, I can understand that he must be feeling pretty miserable as he cycles around these roads, and it must be even worse with this snow on the ground. But each time I see him I do wave and wish him a good day – in French, admittedly, but this is a Commune de facilité which means that both languages are accepted. And what does he do? The man will glare at me as if I’ve just called him a wanking cock-sucker.
I even say it with a smile, and anybody that knows me knows that smiles are reserved for official occasions or for when a handyman has mended something for free after a rather melodramatic breakdown.
But not this postman.
I think the icing on the cake was when he knocked over my wheelie-bin. Fair enough, Tatiana had put it right in front of the letterbox, but the bin wasn’t hiding my letterbox, it was perfectly visible and accessible. But that wasn’t enough for old Grumpy – I saw him push my wheelie-bin right over onto my lawn. How fucking juvenile is that? But I still wish him a bonne journée whenever I see him, although why I bother is beyond me.
He doesn’t deliver letters until 1.30pm, if at all.
14 Comments
The question is: who wants to do this kind of job?
These guys are mostly barely qualified, underpaid and, from what I could understand, their route is being planned by a software to “optimize” the delivery… which explains why your mail never arrives before noon, like mine.
I wouldn’t be much surprised if the poor sod wasn’t simply CAPABLE of answering your polite hellos, be it in french or flemish….. not that he really cares, though.
Your only consolation: the postman is an endangered species that will go the way of the dodo. Like the caissière de Delhaize. And the guy checking your ticket at the cinema.
http://dreamingarm.files.wordpress.com/2009/08/plod.jpg
Ah well, at least now there’s a way to avoid post offices. Apparently now you can buy stamps at the Accueil of the Carrefour.
tsk tsk tsk…. i would not write like this about the guy specially if he is going to deliver the most awaited tea bags…. fresh tea bags.. fresh assam tea bags.. fresh assam original team bags…
isnt it , Laidee???
u do wave at him cos of his age and u feel sympathetic that he still goes around doing his job,everyday, regularly, day in day out..u softieee!!!!!
Poor you. I have the very nicest postman on the planet. He’s a lovely bloke, smiles and exchanges pleasantries whatever the weather, but I suspect he’s as badly done to by his employers as his Belgian colleague.
Without being asked, he even redirects the odd bit of stray mail addressed to my old house, which I left nearly four years ago. He just knows that I don’t live there any more.
And he’s here by half past ten in the morning.
Our postmen/ladies have mopeds which they always drive on the wrong side of the road. We have a post box so I collect mine at 9.30 and pay for the privilege.
Congratulations! You just entered the Joke Tuesday hall of fame! xx
Johng – for the second time, do note.
Thanks Mum!
That’s Pat, dummy, not me. Grrrrrrrrrrr.
You could try a stick through his bicycle wheel and see if his replacement is any better tempered.
Imagine the person who has to live with him.
They are all programmed by software these days, the poor sods. The software doesn’t take into account what they are carrying, though tea bags are not weighty, it’s the shape. The deliver more parcels and less letters these days than year lore.
So some of them are shattered by noon.
Parcels are delivered by van around these parts, so no excuse there.