I Could Murder With A Smile.



So I’m sitting, waiting and in a state of such rage that I’m seriously afraid I really literally might self combust! Remember earlier when I was gloating about purchasing that dress online, getting it overnight expressed and voila all my shopping woes were over? Well last laugh is on me, I should know never to gloat too early, because for sure some asshat is going to fuck things up and that gloat? Well I’m not feeling so smug now, just murderous.

I guess it’s my fault for assuming “guaranteed overnight delivery” actually meant delivered TO me PERSONALLY. Not to my nearest Toll Priority depot, wherever that is exactly. Because Toll muppet on the other end of the phone can’t tell me. I don’t know about you but I generally know where my office is located, so first clue that this isn’t going to end well, for them.

“You will get a text when it arrives with the address and consignment number. I can’t tell you more than it will be before 8pm” says the snarky bitchy voice down the phone. Of course I can match snarky bitchy voice, hell that’s my normal talking voice, with a “now isn’t that all types of fucken brilliant. So I just sit around waiting for a text message then.?” The waspish “yes” and slamming down if the phone, just enrages me further.


Of course the only reasonable thing to do is to call back and say “Oh I’m sorry, we must have got cut off because you sure are shit didn’t just hang up on me…. Hmmm what’s your name again?” You would think this is a fair warning, I’m obviously all types of pissed and not afraid to let it be known or unleash the hounds. Toll pleb obviously doesn’t read my blog, otherwise she wouldn’t have dared utter these words “It’s Tina and no we weren’t cut off, I hung up.” Now until this point, I’d like to think I’ve been reasonable, given that said dress should be in my possession by now and I paid, handsomely at that, for this privilege. Oh no she didn’t? Yes she did AND she just poked the already angry bear…. Bad, bad, bad move Tina.

“Excuse me? You dared to hang up on ME? Just because I was letting you know that your customer service is fucking appalling and I’m a very unhappy customer?…. No you don’t speak, not now, not ever…. I want your manager on the phone NOW. I said NO speaking. MANAGER. NOW!” Fortunately for Tina she has some functioning brain cells or is just over dealing with me. Don’t care which it is honestly, just as long as she doesn’t fucken utter another damn word to me.

Manager gets on phone. Of course there are apologies, excuses, logistical issues. For fucks sake, you’re a logistics company, how the fuck do you have logistical issues? That’s like having a shoe shop that doesn’t sell shoes. Frankly I’m done. “Let’s cut to the chase here, when will my parcel be there and if you give me the same BS story about not having tracking devices on parcels, when I get there I’m bringing Magnus and a fucking machete, because I am going to CUT YOU!!! Do not stammer, this is not a hard question. You know which bloody truck it’s on, ring the fucking driver. Ding! Brilliant idea right? Yeah you’re fucking welcome. You need to remember by this point in we are nearing a 45 minute saga. If it was a book, it would be made into two movies.


Put on hold. Elevator music, which for the record while soft and rhythmic is also all types of bugs crawling under your skin type bloody enraging in itself…. Tick tick tick go the minutes. I’m suspecting by this point I’m being left on hold a deliberately long time. I’m certain of it, they are fucking with me for fun. Oh game on! 20 damn minutes pass. Now I could have hung up and called back but Tina would need to speak to me again, can’t back down. Ok, psychological warfare, I’m up to the challenge….. Tick tick tick…. Music more irritating and I’m itching to give any Toll employee several high fives to the face by this point. Finally the musical hell stops and manager is back on phone. Obviously Tina is off crying in a corner somewhere. Good, bitch deserves it. First rule of life is; I’m always right, this is seconded by the customer is always right. I’ve got double points here folks!


Umm Mrs BmB we anticipate your parcel will be here in 2 hours. Ok 3 hour saga, hells no! FFS! The flight to get it here isn’t that long, has it left the damn airport? Stuttering. Nothing like hearing a grown man stutter. You just know that under it he’s wishing his Mummy could take the call for him. Two hours are unacceptable and this is expressed rather coluorfully. The exact wording I don’t remember, all I remember is a tilted red coloured world. I inform him guaranteed next day delivery is TO me, not your warehouse. By the way, where the fuck is your warehouse? Tina seemed to have issues with knowing her exact location. Given my rage, I’d have had issues giving out my exact location had I been Tina. Meh. Who am I kidding, I’d never be Tina. Tina is a wannabe bitch. I got that t-shirt when I was 5. It still fits by the way Bethany Frankel if you’re wondering, you crazy psycho “how cute is it I fit in my 4 year olds pajamas” No it’s not fucking cute, it’s gross and disturbing. Grown women who fit into a Size T5? Therapist time, cause that’s a whole other set of issues….

Ok says manager, maybe an hour. Ok things are getting better. Maybe an hour. I’m 20 minutes from your location. Let me tell you what, I’m leaving now, bringing Magnus my eyeball collecting bird with me and sticking around until the fucking parcel is in my hands. I’m also working on billable hours, travel time and rage compensation. So I want my delivery fee back and your head to put in my muppet cabinet as a trophy.


So here I sit. Informing them of what this is going to cost them in monetary terms every time someone walks by. No not you delivery man, this isn’t your fault, your assshat employer. I think I see him smile. Yeah that’s right I strung your jerk off boss up by the short and curlies and you have front row tickets. You see the lawyer has already put in a call, quoting breach of contract for services rendered, thrown in a lot of other legal jargon that loosely translates to “this is going to cost you big time”…. You think I’m ballsy, imagine my lawyer. He’s the guy that needs to get me out of a lot of the shitstorms I create. He gets hazard pay, don’t feel too bad for him.

So I sit and snarl and wait…. Impatiently and menacingly. Plotting how I’m going to get Mr BmB to get me a personal assistant. Cause this shit ain’t happening again. Lives will be lost, blood will be shed and I’ll be the one left smiling.

Ok shit is not happening fast enough and they are talking about closing the office. You will have to come back in the morning. Oh fuck no, that’s not how this ends. This ends with me with my parcel in my hand and some bloody compensation! That’s how this ends. I decree it so!

So of course, the next logical step is to ring head office, in another state, while in closest Toll depot. Yeah all kinda of whacky fun. Fuck the initial pleb on the phone, trust me I’m nice to him this is not his fault and he greeted me cheerily enough, but for his sake and safety he better put the highest power that is present in that building on the phone, please and thank you. I’m told office is closing by head honcho man, yeah no that’s not working for me, try door number two. Here, let me hand it to you on a plate. Find the EXACT location of my parcel and get it the fuck to me pronto. Otherwise I’m going all rockstar on your ass and trashing your office. Please hold. More bug under skin crawling music. For too long… I’m certain by this point my rage has already bottomed out my already  low blood sugar into the place that I really could plead diminished capacity if needed. Then head honcho man is back, I will call you back. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. The phone rings. New cheery pleb, head honcho has delegated to someone else. Nice set you have there dude. Chipper voice tells me good news. Well that’s fantastic, any news would be good right about now. We are too many hours into this saga to even count on one hand…. The next part will blow your brain!


Now wait for it dear reader this is the most fucktastical part of this whole blog. It’s in the holding area, at the depot where I am, for the last 2.5 hours. Literally 10 feet from me. 10 fucking feet! I’m about to go all types of postal. Let’s just say the senior management who delegated to new pleb  person at Toll has now lost all his man cards and new cheery pleb is all types of apologetic. I’m sorry not cutting it, you will be hearing from my lawyer because “don’t you know who the fuck I am and this is unacceptable”. It’s very likely they really do have no idea who I am. I’m ungoogleable and with good reason. I’ve managed some spectacular tantrums, “international event”s even but I’ve managed to stay off the news and out of jail so far. Thank you lawyer. But I really hope Toll manager head honcho guy spends all night trying to find out who I am and what I’m capable of. I really should have left a BmB card at office. Yes so complaint letter to be penned tomorrow after a viscous phone call where gutless wonder head honcho guy is going to have to find some man cards or accept the up the ass delivery of “I’m a whiney little bitch” cards. Several packs of them! Quicker than overnight guaranteed and directly to him!

The nice young chap than handed me the box. Well if I wasn’t married, I’d have kissed him. Even more so when I said “your fucker boss is going to burn for this” He chuckled and said “go for it”. It seems their employees are as happy as their customers. So now I’m morally obligated to give it to them up the ass because unhappy customers one thing. Unhappy workers, who give me my golden  parcel and who didn’t blink at my scowl or tirade against his employer? My package Prince Charming, not having his boss chewed out? Not on my watch dear reader, not on my watch.

As for the package. The dress? Well it better damn be the right one and fit. Otherwise they will be on the receiving end of equal rage tomorrow. They have been warned!

FYI. The dress is the wrong size… Someone has no idea of measurements. I know mine were correct and the extra several inches both sides? Infuriating. If it’s even too big fir the girls, someone has NO idea how to read a size chart. So tomorrow someone else  is also going to pay for this giant clusterfuck of errors!

I look forward to it. Like I said earlier, I’m a Class A Bitch. So you’re not surprised. Or at least you shouldn’t be!