PCC: The End.

Nine days after the Police told me they'd posted my PCC to me (just minutes before they received my email asking them not to) I still hadn't seen a sign of it. They also neglected to give me a tracking number, so there's that too. Damn those evil wizards!

BEHOLD! An army of civil servants.

I had some errands to run in town so I decided to pop into the post office to see if there was any way I could find out where the letter was. The lady I spoke to said that without a tracking number I'd have to go to the depot and ask. It happened to be on my way so off I trotted.

Unlike the High Street Post Office, the Post Depot has no shiny lobby, demarcated queuing points, or signs pointing you to various tellers. There were bags of post lying around everywhere, lots of people running around stuffing things into more bags; sheer chaos to my eyes.

I stood awkwardly in the middle of the not-a-lobby and asked the nearest human where I could make inquiries. She directed me to a tiny cupboard, inside which sat a Postal Gnome.

He smiled, stood, and asked how he could help me. He actually spoke to me like a human being. Well, like I was a human being. After being shunted around by police and post people who get a million inquiries a day, it was refreshing to have someone actually SEE me.

I explained that I was waiting for some urgent mail, and he asked me for my address.

"30 Notmyaddress Lane," I whispered nervously.
"FRIKKIE!" bellowed my gnome friend, "POST FOR 30 Notmyaddress Lane?!" Everybody froze and stared at me....

And then they went back to their business.

I had my PCC in my hands within a minute, and the friendliest post-gnome in the world was waving me off and telling me to come back any time, if there was ever another problem.

So, in the end, I was helped by one of the few civil servants in this country who is not an evil wizard. And with my documents ready and off to my recruiter, a great weight has lifted off my back. All is well in Kath-land.

Aaaah...