Thursday 11th August 2011
I’ve done a lot of thinking about the UK riots over these last few days. Several public figures, including the Prime Minister, have stated that the participants are “mindless criminals”; but while some are undoubtedly using these events to serve their own purposes, I can’t accept that as a catch-all explanation. It’s far too easy to write all of this off as groundless criminality, because that means we don’t have to look any further. With very few exceptions, criminals aren’t born: they are made.
Our politicians—all our politicians, not just the government—seem completely disconnected from large swathes of the population, evidenced by their constant appeals to parents to check up on their children; seemingly unaware that many of those parents lost the respect of their kids a long time ago. Many young people feel they are being ignored, and this is their moment to shout.
That said: violence and arson can never be justified, under any circumstances. Feelings of powerlessness and the perception of injustice are powerful incentives to take action, but this selfish anarchy will only attract the wrong kind of attention. I can’t and don’t pretend to know the first thing about growing up in an inner city borough, but I do know this: destroying livelihoods and homes is not only unconscionable, but also reinforces poisonous stereotypes among the people who live outside these areas.
I am worried about what this will do to our country. My fear is that the only beneficiaries will be racist, hate-filled bigots like the BNP, who are currently watching news footage of black teenagers stealing electronics and burning cars; rubbing their hands together with glee at the thought of all the reactionary votes they will be able to lure from frightened constituents in the next election. The fact that there are plenty of white kids involved will, I expect, be conveniently forgotten.
If there is more to these events than just senseless opportunism—and for the sake of my own wavering faith in humanity, I have to hope that there is—then please, young Britons: don’t use technology to organise riots, but instead something much more powerful and memorable. If you really want to bring about change, to be listened to: this is not the way. Get the people on your side. Force the government to hear you, not with violence, but with numbers and reason.
It’s worked before.
Tuition Fees
Is anyone except the government even remotely surprised at the large number of universities which want to charge the maximum tuition fee?
Imagine that I placed £9,000 on a table in front of you, said “help yourself”, and left. You can have all of the money, and you’re completely within your rights to take it. I’d rather you didn’t take all of it. But you can, if you want, and there will be no repercussions for you if you do.
You’ll just have more money.
Well?
In Which I Get Annoyed at Couriers
Before I begin, in the interest of fairness I would like to point out that logistics is a very difficult problem. Throughout history, we have struggled with the safe and reliable transport and delivery of goods.
Having said that: it is now 2011. We have fast motor vehicles and good roads to drive them on. Not to mention trains; aeroplanes; computers; GPS; satellite navigation, mobile phones and above all, hundreds of years of experience. Surely by now receiving packages should be relatively painless?
Consignment Tracking
“It may take up to 48 hours for details of your consignment to appear on the courier’s web site.”
48 hours until I can track the parcel—by which time I am already supposed to have had it in my possession for 24 hours. It’s not really “tracking” if the only possible statuses are “Tracking Information Not Available” and “Delivered”, is it?
Delivery To Your Home
“Sorry we missed you, somehow, even though you literally haven’t moved all day due to the fear that we’d try and deliver—as usual—in the two minute window where you nipped out to get some milk. Here’s a card with a phone number that gets you through to somebody who has no ability to help you in the slightest, along with some directions to our closest depot, conveniently situated in Azerbaijan.”
Delivery To Your Work Address
“Sorry we missed you, somehow, even though you were at your office between 9am and 5pm as usual, waiting for your package to arrive. Because the address you specified contained a company name¹, we tried to deliver either at 5:30 am when nobody was awake yet, let alone at work, or at 7pm when the office had shut. However, under no circumstances would we deliver at those times to your home address—because that would actually be quite handy.”
Arranging Redelivery
Me: Hi, I have a card here that says you tried to deliver a package today, but I missed it—I’d like to arrange redelivery to a different address.
Rep: Ok, no problem, do you have a consignment number?
Me: Yes, it’s DVCOJ909809823070111.
Rep: (clicking, typing): Sorry, it’s gone back out on the van.
Me: So what does that mean?
Rep: It means he’ll try and deliver it to the same address again tomorrow.
Me: Ok, but I’m not going to be there. As it hasn’t been delivered yet, why don’t you just tell him to deliver to the new address instead?
Rep: That’s not how it works. I can’t contact the driver.² We have to try to deliver to the old address again and fail before I can issue him new instructions.
Me: So let me get this straight: instead of the package coming straight to the new address I just gave you, the driver has to make a completely wasted trip—to deliver a package to someone we now all know won’t be there to receive it—before returning the package to the depot and trying to deliver to the new address on Monday, where by then I won’t be either?
Rep: Yes.
What I feel like saying: AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHH THE RAAAAAAGE
What I actually say: Right. Ok, just keep it there when he gets back, and I’ll come and collect it myself.
Collection
Scene: a cold, desolate industrial estate somewhere in Azerbaijan. A battered exterior door bears a piece of paper which reads: “Please Ring Bell And Wait.” I ring it. What seems like a full fifteen minutes later, I hear movement inside. An extremely pissed-off looking woman appears and opens the door.
Me: Hi, I’ve come to pick up a package?
I hand her the card. She disappears without a word. What seems like another fifteen minutes later passes; she reappears, minus package.
Warehouse Lady: Sorry—it’s gone back out on the van.
Footnotes:
1. As far as I am able to tell, this is how it works.
2. WHY THE HELL NOT?