I am fairly certain that most of the people who will read this will be American or at the very least non-British and therefore it will be a completes mystery to them but I am British and the last thing I would do would be to complain.
Can't do it.
No matter how disappointing the restaurant meal, no matter how rude the shop assistant, no matter what nonsense the man on the phone throws at me as an excuse, I can't complain or if I do, I suffer.
A fortnight ago I mentioned, almost in passing, that something, perhaps, in my opinion, wasn't quite right; there was something like a disagreement. It has never been referred to but things are being done better now so I should be chalking one up to the good guy but instead I am racked with guilt. I didn't quite complain but I disagreed and they took it as a complaint and now . . .
I am stressed if I complain and stressed when I don't.
So, anyway, imagine the levels of stress I reached today when I went to post some mail.
Last week I vowed not to go to that post office again. It had not been a happy experience. But today I only had one thing to post and it was not my usual time or day and I felt optimistic for a moment ...
I was particularly pleased with the envelope but it will never arrive. I left room for either a stamp or one of their beloved labels but, instead of using the space, the assistant slapped the label over the post code and my return address label, flung it quickly into the open post bag and stood looking at me with an expression that seemed to be daring me to say something; anything by way of a complaint.
I will not be going back there and haven't much of an idea where I can go to safely post things now.
I am certain that envelope is lost.
I feel just as lost.
But I still won't complain!
envelope with space for the label marked:
envelope with where the label went . . .