The dark side of transformation of 400-yr old Finnish public service provider
My visit to a renewed post office
I took me some time write this story but it was for better: my first reaction from visiting the local post office was too emotional. Here I try to be reasonable.
First of all, I would like to mention that I have lived in several countries, and nowhere else the feelings from interacting with the post services were as positive as they used to be in Finland. Even when a parcel automate was installed in one of the local supermarkets and they started to offer post service at the cashier desk in another one — just next block from my home, I still preferred visiting the real post office: it felt so good there, while in the supermarket the post service is just one of the functions the cashier has to do.
This is why I was shocked when I dropped by the same office to quickly send a small parcel on my way to work and faced this view after I opened the door:
My reaction was strong not only because I faced walls of lockers instead of friendly stuff. My parcel was not packed and I was planning to buy a hard cardboard envelope there, as I was usually doing before. But this service was not available there anymore.
The closest post office, as indicated in the information on the door, is located two metro stations away. I decided that I might find a suitable envelope in a paper shop nearby. Alas, I was wrong, the closest package material I could find there was an envelope with bubbles. Ok, not ideal but still better than just a regular paper, so I bought it and went back — to face the post machine. (Spent about 20 additional minutes buying the package.)
After weighing the parcel, I needed to select the right category size for my sending. There was a ruler printed on the table, but there was no tool to measure the thickness of the envelope (just try to do it precisely with a ruler!), I had to do the best guess. (But what happens if my measurement was incorrect and I pay too little for the postage? Will the parcel be returned to me?)
Next, I had to type in the address on the large touch screen. The terminal is located just by the entrance, and this location provides no privacy at all: anyone passing by can see to whom and where I was sending my parcel.
Another unexpected surprise was the requirements of the receiver’s phone number (this information was not compulsory on the traditional paper address labels), and precisely — the mobile phone number. I didn’t have the number with me, so I had to put a stationary phone number in that field instead. The reason for the mobile phone number being mandatory was not indicated; hopefully they are not going to send an important short message to that number — it cannot be delivered to the stationary phone.
The phone number format did not offer any groping for digits, therefore it was quite hard to verify the long international number. (It would be so much easier to do so if the number would be automatically formatted, for example, as +123 45 678 9109 (compare its readability to +123456789109: which one is easier to check and would be less prone to mistypes?)
Another new piece of information that I was asked was the email address of the receiver. The screen offered no information about how the email address will be used. Fortunately the field was not compulsory, so I could skip it: I was not sure whether my addressee would be ok with his email being printed on the parcel.
When all the necessary information was entered, I was instructed to print two labels — the address label and the shipping code label. With the first one, everything was more or less clear: I generally know where to put the address on the envelope. But I stumbled with the shipping code labels. It turned out that there should be two of them, and only by accident I noticed that one got stuck in the printer. Fortunately, that screen was still on, so I could print the labels again. I don’t know what would happen if I only put one label; there was no indication that they are coming in pair.
But how do I know where to put the code labels and how important their location on the envelope is? Usually such labels were put by the post office staff. The machine offered no guidance about it.
When I finally attached those code labels, I was ready to put the parcel in the locker. The screen provided me with the locker number and the code. However, there was no option to print them out. Sure, it is not a big challenge to remember those numbers, but what would happen if I remember them incorrectly and won’t be able to open the locker? I don’t know how long these numbers will be on display so that I could come back and check them. Besides, the terminal may already be occupied by the next customer. In order to avoid possible problems, I took a picture of the terminal screen with my phone.
By the way, I was not offered any receipt of tracking code print. I have therefore printed out the tracking code labels again (for the third time already). The labels have a very sticky surface, so one has to carefully fold them before putting in a wallet or pocket.
(Another note on the code label: it is designed to be primary read by machine, therefore the number printed below the bar code is so tiny that I had to read it very carefully in order to type the code for tracking my parcel later. It was also not clear where exactly the actual code starts: does it include those two “0” in the brackets in the beginning of the code? (It turned out, it does. But then why are those digits in the brackets?)
Now I was ready for the final step. My locker number was 447.
Yes, the one at the top. I am not a very tall person but managed to key in the opening code and put the parcel in the locker without a problem. But for an old lady who had to do the same procedure, the task was impossible: she was not able to reach the top lockers, and I haven’t noticed any step or ladder that would help in such situation. (And if there would be a ladder, would she dare to climb it?)
Taking into account that the whole operation “Send a Small Parcel” took me totally at least 40 mins, the slogan on the post office window that can be translated as “Smoother everyday life” sounded a bit sarcastic to me on that day.
(By the way, the sanitizer bottle was empty (at another occasion, there wasn’t even a bottle at all, so one cannot disinfect hands after using the public touch screen.)
Well, I was irritated and disappointed by meeting a computer and lockers instead of human beings, but at least I managed to complete my task. When I was about to leave, an old man entered the post office, stood by the door, looked around and said one word: “Saatana!” (“Goddammit!”). And just walked away.
I do realize that times change, technology advances and service providers need to cut costs. But I also believe that such essential public services with long heritage as Posti should keep their identity not only by means of visual design. What I experienced while interacting with the digital face of the post service telling me that Posti’s identity is disappearing. This is something totally new, that is not differ much from other delivery services. Even if this is a new age of Posti’s history, I would not count it on top of those 400 years.
Many still remember the terrible mistake that Posti made when changed its public service name to Itella — fortunately, that could be reversed after a few years. I am not sure that identity is restorable with such an ease.
