Review Time
Working here is like signing up for a job in a maximum security prison… except the prisoners are your colleagues and the guards are management, who clearly spent their lives perfecting the art of glaring and hiding things staff actually need.
Once upon a time, there was a balcony. A proper, sunny balcony where humans could eat lunch without feeling like they were in a dungeon. Now it’s locked, the key has vanished into some secret dimension, and management acts like anyone who even thinks about fresh air is committing an act of treason and protecting the key like it’s the Crown Jewels. Fancy sitting outside for five minutes? You might as well try to negotiate with a brick wall.
Lunch breaks are timed down to the millisecond, and visiting the food van is treated like a high risk military operation. Chew too slowly, and you’ll feel the glare of someone calculating exactly how many seconds you wasted. Chat, laugh, or stretch your legs and you’ll get looks that could curdle milk. Even thinking about enjoying yourself is apparently an act of rebellion. Want to eat a biscuit at your desk? Don’t even try it… suddenly you’re in detention, courtesy of a business manager who peaked as a school bully and never left it behind.
Meanwhile, the people in charge, the ones doing the glaring, couldn’t organise a p**s up in a brewery. Yet somehow, everything that goes wrong gets blamed on the staff. It’s like being punished for the forecast, or having your own shoelaces judged for tripping someone else. Utterly absurd and endlessly frustrating.
Staff are treated like medieval peasants. Smile too loudly? Criminal. Eat your lunch at a sensible pace? Felony. Whisper? Bold move. And that legendary balcony? It’s now the stuff of fairy tales, whispered about like it’s Narnia or a functioning HR department.
The food van is a test of speed, stealth, and luck, navigate it wrong, and you’ll catch a glare that could melt steel.
In short: if your idea of a dream job is being watched like a lab rat, punished for enjoying yourself and denied basic human comforts like fresh air and a relaxed lunch, congratulations, you’ve found paradise. For anyone else with a pulse and a sense of self respect: run. Run fast, preferably with snacks hidden in your bag, a good sense of humour, and a mental notebook of all the absurdity you’re about to witness. You’ll need all three.
This place isn’t a company, it’s what would happen if a school detention hall, a failing family WhatsApp group, and a dairy aisle had a nervous breakdown together.Staff are forbidden from throwing away gone-off milk. Not “slightly past its best” milk, we’re talking sentient, weaponised dairy. Dispose of it and you’re placed on a milk ban, like a disgraced Victorian chimney sweep, and barred from the kitchen. Nothing screams “serious professional organisation” quite like fermented lactose disciplinary procedures.The owner’s sister holds the grand title of “business manager,” which appears to mean Chief Inspector of Dishwasher Loading and Supreme Warden of the Kitchen Threshold. What business she manages is unclear, unless the company’s core revenue stream is passive aggressive hovering. Her communication style falls somewhere between traffic warden and malfunctioning foghorn.Her brother, the managing director, operates on the revolutionary leadership principle of “speak to everyone like dirt, then act personally victimised when they don’t enjoy it.” Question anything and you’ll be treated like a rogue agent in a low budget spy film -isolated, monitored, and quietly punished for the crime of possessing a spine.Then there’s the construction director, whose primary contribution appears to be arriving in an expensive car and radiating the confidence of a man who has never been told “no.” Actual work seems to be something he delegates with the enthusiasm of someone outsourcing a group project five minutes after joining it. If looking busy and talking about yourself were an Olympic sport, he’d still subcontract it.Staff turnover isn’t high, it’s centrifugal. People don’t leave; they’re flung out by the sheer gravitational force of dysfunction. New starters arrive with hope in their eyes and leave weeks later looking like they’ve just completed a tour of duty.Desks are moved around constantly for no discernible reason, giving the office the calm, structured atmosphere of musical chairs during an earthquake. Presumably this is to keep morale low and confusion high, both key pillars of modern management, apparently.Morale itself is somewhere beneath the Earth’s crust. The general mood could be described as “hostage situation but with spreadsheets.”Honestly, calling it a circus would be unfair to circuses, at least clowns have skills and someone there knows how to organise a tent.My deepest sympathies to anyone still employed there. Stay strong, stay hydrated (bring your own milk), and remember: parole is possible.
Working here is like signing up for a job in a maximum security prison… except the prisoners are your colleagues and the guards are management, who clearly spent their lives perfecting the art of glaring and hiding things staff actually need.Once upon a time, there was a balcony. A proper, sunny balcony where humans could eat lunch without feeling like they were in a dungeon. Now it’s locked, the key has vanished into some secret dimension, and management acts like anyone who even thinks about fresh air is committing an act of treason and protecting the key like it’s the Crown Jewels. Fancy sitting outside for five minutes? You might as well try to negotiate with a brick wall.Lunch breaks are timed down to the millisecond, and visiting the food van is treated like a high risk military operation. Chew too slowly, and you’ll feel the glare of someone calculating exactly how many seconds you wasted. Chat, laugh, or stretch your legs and you’ll get looks that could curdle milk. Even thinking about enjoying yourself is apparently an act of rebellion. Want to eat a biscuit at your desk? Don’t even try it… suddenly you’re in detention, courtesy of a business manager who peaked as a school bully and never left it behind.Meanwhile, the people in charge, the ones doing the glaring, couldn’t organise a p**s up in a brewery. Yet somehow, everything that goes wrong gets blamed on the staff. It’s like being punished for the forecast, or having your own shoelaces judged for tripping someone else. Utterly absurd and endlessly frustrating.Staff are treated like medieval peasants. Smile too loudly? Criminal. Eat your lunch at a sensible pace? Felony. Whisper? Bold move. And that legendary balcony? It’s now the stuff of fairy tales, whispered about like it’s Narnia or a functioning HR department.The food van is a test of speed, stealth, and luck, navigate it wrong, and you’ll catch a glare that could melt steel.In short: if your idea of a dream job is being watched like a lab rat, punished for enjoying yourself and denied basic human comforts like fresh air and a relaxed lunch, congratulations, you’ve found paradise. For anyone else with a pulse and a sense of self respect: run. Run fast, preferably with snacks hidden in your bag, a good sense of humour, and a mental notebook of all the absurdity you’re about to witness. You’ll need all three.
I am writing about DHL and m3Floodtec. (This review will also go to DHL). I ordered an item from Floodtec and paid extra for next day delivery, with DHL being the company's courier. To cut a long story short, the item was not delivered on time. DHL said to contact Floodtec about this, and Floodtec passed it back to DHL. (This was the final response from both organisations, after a formal complaint to each)Neither company is taking responsibility for the delay, which was a problem as I needed the item to finish the job.I am very disappointed in both DHL and Floodtec, as neither seem to have any regard for the customer and are just passing the buck.As explained in my complaint, I would like a refund for the next day delivery which was late.
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