PostNord Tried to Steal My Doll!

I found a talented artist who does partial repaints via one of my Facebook doll groups (sue me, I’m old). He cleans up pixelation, sharpens the screening, enhances the brows and liner, adds intentional blush to the nose and cheeks, deepens the lips, and then re-roots with hair so luxurious it should require a warning label.

Naturally, I needed one.

eBay briefly decided he was “not willing to ship to me,” which was news to both of us. So we behaved like adults and used PayPal Goods and Services. Civilized. Protected. Efficient.

She was shipped almost immediately and arrived in Denmark in record time.

And then PostNord got their grubby, dysfunctional hands on her.

Allow me to show you this stunning creature while I recount my week-long attempt to pay a company that refused to let me give them money. Once a package clears customs here, PostNord is supposed to notify you so you can pay their import fees and VAT. They can do this in four ways.

*A physical letter is the first option, and the one I expected. Until this experience proved otherwise, it was the least convenient due to timing, but the most reliable. Unless it is snowing, in which case apparently mail delivery becomes theoretical.

*An email, which is supposed to arrive the same day.

*A text message, which should function like the email, only faster.

*A message through the PostNord app.

I received none of these.

What I did receive were reminders, through the aforementioned app and villain of this story, to pay soon. Fascinating, considering I was missing the two pieces of information required to do so. The invoice number and the assigned pincode, both of which were assigned by PostNord. These exist to prevent strangers from paying your bill. Though honestly, if some mysterious benefactor would like to cover my VAT in the future, I will not fight you. I welcome you. If an AI wants to do it, even better. Those “are you a robot” pages are deeply unserious anyway.

What followed was a week-long battle to obtain two numbers from a company that seemed committed to sending my doll back to Mr. Han out of principle.

The listed phone number? An automated voicemail directing you to download the app and use the chatbot between 09:00 and 16:00.

Ma’am. This is a postal service…isn’t it?

Their app had a penchant for kicking me out every fifteen minutes, like clockwork. For seven hours a day. Five days a week. Every. Fifteen. Minutes.

If the screen dimmed, it crashed. If I checked email, it crashed. If I blinked too hard, it probably crashed. There I was, setting a timer and periodically dragging my finger across the screen like I was trying to keep a Tamagotchi alive in 1999.

I messaged them on Facebook, Instagram, and sent them daily emails. The replies I got were completely automated. A response telling me, politely, to contact them via the chat that was clearly malfunctioning on a level that made it absolutely useless.

And let me just say this. I do not know who coded their chatbot system, but it needs a complete overhaul. At this point it feels less like customer service and more like an obstacle course designed to cause stress migraines.

Then, on the exact day I received the “we are sending this back tomorrow” notification, there it was.

The invoice number.
The pincode.

On the last possible day. The absolute final hour before they gleefully yeeted her back across the globe.

I paid within minutes.

I have trudged through actual snow banks this winter, trying to find patches where the snow was packed down enough for my dogs to walk without having to wade through what is, to them, chest-deep snowfall. I have navigated icy sidewalks and puddles of slush so deep that water managed to get into my big winter boots while two small, dramatic creatures looked at me like I personally invented winter.

That was less stressful than this. Less chaotic. Less absurd.

At least snow does not send passive-aggressive app notifications threatening to return your package while holding the invoice number and pincode hostage behind an army of bureaucratic nonsense, automated voicemail loops, and chatbots that politely tell you to use the chat that’s already failed you for a full working week.

I genuinely do not know what happened to PostNord. At some point they were a functioning postal system. Now they feel like a side quest designed to test your patience stat.

But she is here. Mr. Han did not have to resend her.

And she arrived wrapped in tissue paper, nestled inside a cardboard box, tied delicately at the waist with little white ribbons. Very Integrity Toys energy. A genuinely lovely touch.

I’m a big fan of show, not tell, and I think the pictures speak for themselves. Just look at that face. The liner is crisp. The eyes are luminous. The lips have depth instead of that flat factory gloss. The blush placement gives her warmth without making her look sunburned. She looks intentional.

And the hair. Oh my!  Gorgeous. I just hope I can keep it looking this nice as I dress and re-dress her. The re-root is full and silky with that rich dimensional brown that catches light beautifully. The length is exactly what I hoped for. It cascades. It behaves. It photographs like it knows it’s the main character.

She will not be staying on this slim body.

I have plans for you, my dear.

Anyway, thanks for stopping in and indulging my rage.  Oh and, happy Friday The 13th!