A quick visit to post a small parcel. And, as an added bonus, a nice view of a broken public service.
The Charing Cross main Post Office is just off Trafalgar Square, and gets pretty busy—especially at lunchtimes. Last time I was there, probably a year ago, we had a long, snaking central queue, heading for about 15 screened windows. If you were smart, or lucky, you knew that the envelope kiosk just inside the door (with a separate, very small queue) could meet most basic postage needs, apart from Special Delivery for some reason. Otherwise you just lined up and got served, usually in 10-20 minutes.
Today it was very different. The whole place has had a makeover—the screens are gone, and so has the queue. Instead, inside each door, you have a ticket dispenser. They have four categories: Counter Services, Foreign Exchange, Business Services and Special Delivery.
Above the dispensers are screens showing that, sure enough, the bored-looking folk clutching scraps of paper around the room have all been divided into different queues. A very long one for Counter Services, a much shorter one for Special Delivery, a handful for Foreign Exchange and none whatsoever for Business Services (whatever they may be).
So far, all looking like a nice example of self-service and good demand management. And all rather illusory, as my attempt to get a ticket was thwarted by a small chap in uniform standing in my way. In his fascinating (though heavily flawed—more of that another time) TED talk on “This is Broken” (link to the video) Seth Godin refers to the appearance of temporary signs as a good indicator that a system is broken. Let me postulate that the appearance of a full-time uniformed member of staff in front of a self-service ticket dispenser is also a pretty heavy hint.
“What service would you like?” I was brightly asked. “To post this,” I said. “Special Delivery, sir?” I looked at the big line of numbers in the virtual queue for Counter Services, and the tiny line against Special Delivery. Temptation knocked. And was let in. “Special Delivery…” I said, boldly, took the proferred ticket, turned on my heel and barely murmured, “…I think”.
Two minutes later, my fast-track number is called. Special Delivery as a fast track for, erm, delivery I was very familiar with. But as a means of getting a Business Class service in the Post Office as well? I’d love to have seen the meeting when the consultants pitched that one.
No matter. I’m being served. And being asked how I’d like to have my parcel delivered. With choices. “Oh, just standard”, I replied. Fine, said the clerk, asking for the cash.
“You know I’ve got a Special Delivery queuing ticket, don’t you?” A sheepish look came back at me. We began to chat. (I was very gentle.) He said he wasn’t really supposed to serve me anything else, but had anyway. He usually did. He didn’t like the ticket system either and said it caused chaos, particularly when busy. Oh, and in response to a bit more gentle questioning, that it had been in place for a mere EIGHT MONTHS.
I have to score that one as a big fat zero for the Post Office’s management, I’m afraid. Overmanning, fair queues that aren’t, breakdown of the rules and the disillusionment of your own staff? Yep. That’s broken.
By some strange congruence of circumstances, I found myself in the very same Post Office last year. It must have been soon after they had introduced the new system (I remember it being bitterly cold outside). I, too, made the same choice in order to hit the smaller queue, but I wasn’t bold enough to suggest that they send it using a ‘normal’ delivery tariff. Perhaps when the system was young, the staff were less inclined to bend the rules…
In a sort of defence of my obviously cheaty selfish behaviour, I was offered alternative postal services without having to ask. But to shatter that flimsy defence, I was going to ask anyway. Think of me as one who cares about the process enough to check it out properly. Honest.