In despair at the post office

The South African Post is to my knowledge not the most realiable postal service in the world. Letters to myself generally arrive 1-2 months after they were posted (although I have to admit, I have had a few very pleasant quick deliveries. 

I had been waiting for a letter from my supervisor containing questionnaires of the last phase which she sent via overnight courier from Johannesburg to the previous project manager Amy in mid June after her last visit. By mid July the package had still not arrived and although I did a daily trip to the post office to ask them to look for it it appeared it was not there. Amy left to return to Canada and I finally received the slip that it was ready to be picked up on July 31st. The slip had the tracking number on it so I tracked the parcel's journey. It was indeed sent on 15th June and arrived "over-night" at the Acornhoek post office on July 7th. From there, the notification of arrival travelled 2 weeks to arrive at my office at the hospital about 500m further up the road. I'd say that is pretty stellar service in any case - plus the fact that obviously nobody ever properly checked all the times I went to ask for it. 

So I went to pick up the package in early august. Firstly, I had to wait in line for about 1 hour until I was seen. Then the manager refused point blank to give me the parcel as Amy's name alone was on the notice slip. He said she would either have to come from Canada to pick it up herself or it would be returned. After an eternity of arguing on both sides he then agreed that he might be able to give it to me if her passport copy was certified. I told him in no uncertain terms that I needed that letter and that it was not our fault it was delivered this late when Amy had already left. Obviously he couldn't take responsibility for the way it was sent, only for its delivery. I got so frustrated with him that I actually had tears in my eyes which made him soften up and he asked me whether I know any black men. Slightly surprised I confirmed that I did indeed know black men. He suggested I should bring one of them with ID and he would give me the letter.

My assistant Aubrey was my black man of choice. We went to the post office, the manager made a copy of his ID and Aubrey explained about the situation of old an new boss and whom the parcel was from etc. The manager went on to hand me the letter when I noticed, that I was one of the addressees too. Argh!

He did apologize profusely but then tried to charge us for the photocopy.