Dear NZ Post,
Let it be noted that I use the term “dear” with a distinct lack of sincerity. You have never really been dear to me: Not back in the 80s when I deposited my 50 cent piece in your low-interest kiddy account; not when you ceased to be that entity and became the Frankenstein’s monster that you are now; not when I lived in an apartment building with a small mailbox and you never delivered anything, and when I went to pick things up, you could never find them; not when you sold my new address to various spam generators just because I foolishly was trusting enough to use your change-of-address “service”; and certainly not now.
Why not now? Well, let me put it this way: When a lovely person decides that they will try and make your birthday special by sending a series of items in the mail, the effect is ruined when half of them go missing.
In fact, this just makes me extremely nervous.
How many presents did you steal from me, or lose? I shudder to think.
You’re going on my list. This week, it’s you and the Dunedin City Council.