Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

Call Centre Confidential

My lovely housemate Jay has just zipped off to the States and left me with one simple task: get a phone line installed in the new house. Actually, there were two - something about not blow anything up, which I managed for a whole day and I'm sure he never liked that toaster anyway. But yes, the phone. I called BT, the main supplier of telephonic apparatus in this country. After ten minutes of being on hold listening to some awful R&B, my patience was as thin as bony ol' Sarah Jessica Equine. Then a disinterested call-monkey answered the phone:

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting. How can I help?"
"I'd like to get a landline connected."
"Can you give me your address?"
(I do)
"Hmm. That doesn't appear to be coming up on our system. Are you sure the property exists?"
"No. I really sleep in a box under a bridge. I just thought I'd get a phone put in."

And so, we descended further into said call-centre madness:
"So, we'll get an engineer out to you to check the line. It'll be £74."
"It'll be what?"
"Just to check whether I have a line, simply because your computer doesn't tell you my house exists?"
"Yes. I'm booking in the 17th for you."
"Let me just check..."
"It's a Wednesday. (pause) Sir."
"I'd like a Saturday."
"I can't."
"For £74 you can put me down for a Saturday."
"I'm sorry sir, our engineers don't work Saturdays."
"Oh fuck right off. Cancel it all. I'm going to try someone else."

I'm really sorry, Jay. I did try. Now I've got a horrible feeling that there is no one else, and I'm going to have to go back with cap in hand...

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