The service offered by delivery companies to leave packages and parcels at a specific pick up point and so remove that worry of a missed home drop is all well and good if you are well organised and possess at the time of collection the relevant Order Number and some form of identification.
In my defence I was originally notified through a tracking system that my item had been successfully delivered not to the pre-arranged place but to my house .
This caused me to panic big style as there was no sign of anything in the usual secure places nor the letter box card with details of where to go to retrieve it.
In an impulsive act I made my way on foot to the designated drop off point, this being a 24 hour petrol station and mini-market about half a mile away. It was, anyway, just a bit of a detour from my regular early saturday morning stroll to the shops to get newspaper, bread and the components for a small fry-up as one of life's little weekend luxuries.
The only proof of purchase that I could trace was in the form of a screenshot of the E-Bay page which, along with my driving licence photo-card I hoped would be sufficient to liberate the package.
I have used the aforementioned petrol station on a few occasions for its primary purpose of a petrol purchase and to a lesser extent the franchised retail section for staples and treats but such is the rota and turnover of staff that my face was not at all familiar to those on duty this morning.
This meant that I had to cobble together a back story and then present my credentials to an understandably diligent and suspicious staff.
They were, after accepting whom I purported to be, very helpful but were still seeking that ultimate bit of proof in the same way that on-line banking operatives talk you through security questions of which there are usually a minimum of three relating to such things as date of birth, mothers maiden name and the details of at least one transaction from the account in question.
I offered them the option of opening up the package, which having been placed on the shop counter was in quite a bad way anyway with shredded panels and gaping holes, as the irrefutable evidence of my identity.
Normally, third party tampering with a postal item would of course be prohibited but with my full consent the challenge was accepted.
This just required me to confirm what it was that I had purchased.
At this pretty advanced stage in proceedings I had very strong second thoughts about the big reveal.
It had been a bona-fide purchase after all but the item had come from a specialist retailer and I could not be sure about what it might be wrapped up in or if it came in a descriptive box.
The photograph on the E Bay site had been clear enough but what if \I had fallen prey to a scammer and there was something else completely in the parcel.
It was quite a large box even with its ravaged exterior and I had an innate fear that perhaps I had misjudged the scale of the item and had actually purchased a freakishly large size or conversely, a miniature amongst a lot of bubble wrap. Things have happened like that to others where a full sized motor vehicle had been expected but a Dinky Toy version arrived in the mail.
I had bought the item or rather it came as a pair as a perfectly innocent acquisition to add to a set that I had from a couple of years ago.
The original version of the item or, as they were a pair, versions, had been alright I suppose but were lacking in authenticity and detail.
They were in fact pale imitations of the real thing and had lowered the tone and style of the rest of the ensemble.
This new purchase was of a professional standard, hence the specialism of the seller.
I got ready to give the description to the staff members as they were already looking into the ragged wrappings and had begun to giggle a bit, look at me, shy away and then laugh a bit more.
I was perhaps a little bit embarrassed as in isolation the item could be seen as being associated with a bit of a fetish especially so for a man of my mature years.
"OK" I said.
"You may not have seen a pair like it before but they are the best of their kind in Santa Claus fur trimmed shiny black boots available to those who, during December every year do a bit of Father Christmas-ing on a casual and not for profit basis"
On leaving the petrol station with my tatty box and its contents I vaguely recall having apparently agreed to carry out a return visit but in full Santa costume not later that 5pm on the forthcoming Christmas Eve.
I will have to check my diary and confirm that early on in the coming Festive Month.
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