This is what my life looked like recently (and will again soon). I ship books, calendars, the occasional piece of artwork, week in and week out. There used to be post offices for this. DHL has pretty much wiped them off the map. In a city the size of Frankfurt, exactly one real branch is left, smack in the middle of downtown, and the only place to park is a garage (where you have to pay for parking).
The franchise branch in the main train station, long my lifeline, got shut down a while back. Where did it move to? Nidda Street, of all the godforsaken places, the kind of street where even the cops won't show their faces anymore and a private security outfit makes the occasional loop instead. Step into that dead-end alley, generously paved with dubious leftovers and packed with a very loyal regular crowd, and within a minute the first dealer is whistling after you. Sorry, but I'm not dropping my calendars off there.
That leaves the supermarkets. Just try walking in with more than two parcels, though. Hands fly up over heads, out comes the ruler, you know the routine by now.
So for bigger loads I'd rather drive out to the franchise branch by the convention center. There's an older woman working there who is at war with computers, and it's a war that, after all these years, still hasn't been decided. Ever since DHL started demanding two barcodes scanned per parcel, she has completely lost it. How do I know? She greeted me earlier, no joke, with the words, "Not these damn parcels again." She's been doing this job since 2018, and she still takes it unbelievably hard.
Her coworker is right there with her. "Two kilos, we don't even carry that. Only as a small parcel. Did you do this online?" Yes, I did. And yes, parcels I paid the postage for online I am in fact allowed to drop off with you. Good God.
I know, I know. The old days weren't all sunshine either. I remember all too well an endless line in a real post office, I must have been a teenager, and the guy behind the bulletproof glass I politely asked to please open his second window. His answer, word for word: "Coworker's coming. I'm not actually here." The German service economy, summed up in one sentence.
The delivery trucks, by the way, tell me I can just hand my parcels straight to the driver. Charming idea. But have you ever seen the joy in the eyes of a driver whose hard-won empty truck you're about to fill back up with ten fresh parcels? That silent reproach in his eyes is more than I can bear.