Definitely Tortoise. Expensive tortoise.

Last week Australia Post struggled to respond to my complaint about 30 business letters that took up to 16 days, 12 business days to deliver IN THE SAME TOWN.

In a desperate attempt to find a responsible Aus Post person, I phoned 137678.

There were five options: Press 1 for parcel delivery. Press 2 for payment. Press 3 for passport. Press 4 for Post Office. Press 7 for ‘how we protect your privacy’.

That was a complete waste of time.

So, I went to www.auspost.com.au where I found a handy dandy list of customer service pledges.

(BTW. Did you know the Aus Post website has 330 items that contain the word ‘complaint’. Obviously these people are serious about problem solving? Right?)

They even have helpful instructions to assist you to “learn how to make a complaint”.

NOT included is ‘insert’ your preferred profanity here.

Included in the how-to-complain list are: Online, social media and that old favourite and ironic, ‘write a letter’.

No, Aus Post I don’t want to complain on social media … When I complain, Australia Post, it is to draw attention to a problem you should fix.

I found their website loaded with empty words.

They’ve taken motherhood statements to new heights.

However their Customer Commitment Charter brought out the mother in me.

Our good friends at Australia Post sure know their way around words that actually say nothing:

They will:

1. Help you connect to others and the world – your way (first-class to Madrid, please)

2. Listen and respond to what you tell us (feed the poodles, now!)

3. Provide you with products and services you need (a bottle of gin and a scalp massage)

4. Meet your future needs (what, now you can read minds? Crystal ball?)

5. Do more than you expect (“would you like fries with your order?”)

Eventually I spoke with a very polite person for 15 minutes. I was given an eight-digit case number.

“What will happen next? Will you call me back?” I said.

“Unfortunately no,” she said.

What?

“You call us back…what’s today? Friday or early next week.”

The final, gratuitous, indignity was a call the next day to rate Aus Post customer service.

“Please briefly explain why you rated zero.”

Before I could respond. Disconnected.

It’s dangerous to eat sushi while driving.

While the above could be a great name for a band, it was a lesson I learned half way up the Balfour Street hill, last Friday.

I was so, so hungry. It was 2.30. It was brown rice, tuna and avocado. It was foolhardy of me to think I could fit almost the whole sushi roll into my mouth while driving.

The pickled ginger went straight into my lap and afterwards I felt uncomfortably like a python who tried to eat a small dog in one mouthful.

There are some lessons I really should know by now:

1. Always pluck my chin hair before a big night out.

2. My favourite black, suede stilettos can only be worn sitting down.

3. A nap before a night out is time well spent.

4. My hairdresser (Louis) is better than Valium when my brain’s fried 40 minutes before I have to go out. Naughty laughter is great medicine.