My own private Brexit hell

I’ve been waiting for this parcel since Christmas. My brother wasn’t able to post it until the day before Christmas Eve. It got to then got to Germany on the 28th of December and was stuck in customs until the 10th of January. Then there were no status updates, including whether I would need to pay any duty until the delivery guy rang to doorbell. There was just the small matter of customs: €2.41 plus € 6 handling fee. Which I didn’t have and he couldn’t give change… Never mind that in these paranoid days the posties are not supposed to handling cash, standard procedure is notification of the duty and nothing happens until it’s paid.

As we couldn’t square the financial circle the parcel would go back to the depot and I could pay for it and pick it up the next day from the local sub post office. So, I tried but no joy.

Then I got an email telling me the parcel was being sent home!

The parcel has ALL of Astrid’s Christmas and birthday presents! And, yes, the dirty looks have been getting dirtier.

I called DHL customer support, which is owned by the German postal service, and was told that the parcel was getting special treatment and would probably be available for pick up in a couple of days.

Except it wasn’t.

I called again yesterday and was told variously that it was being sent back to my brother or that it was being examined because of damage. There’s nothing breakable in it because I’m a cheapskate. I was fuming but remained polite but the guy still just hung up. Computer says: go fuck yourself!

So, probably some more days of uncertainty before my brother tells me it’s been sent back.

But my point is, this is a small incident of how Brexit fucks things up. While the UK was in the EU, it was in a customs union: no customs required for small packages. Even without the delivery SNAFU, the package was still held up for over a week. Rinse and repeat for thousands of parcels everyday!

Then again, the German postal services have got previous when it comes to not delivering parcels to me: my mum still dines out on the ones sent to me with crisps and teabags that disappeared without trace. And in 2020 the post pretended to have tried to deliver while I was living in the Kronenstraße. Then the package from my brother was left with the Ethiopian convenience store but the address on the ticket was for the taxi office on the other side of the road!

I wish I was making this up! This is about Astrid’s presents. (Along with my new Kalendar).

But along with Deutsche Post, I blame Boris!