To Be Wound Up to The Point Your Head Might Explode, Please Press 1
A friend said to me the other day that I must be the kind of person who sees the humour in everything. Generally, that’s true, and it’s usually when I shouldn’t.
Take the time a colleague went kasplat into the glass wall of our office with an impact so forceful, her glasses needed replacing. A concerned enquiry as to her general well being and a helpful tug to her feet would have been the appropriate response, but hard to pull off sincerely when it ranks in the Top Ten of your funniest comedy accidents of all time.
However, today I have struggled very hard to find anything vaguely amusing about my telethon with Virgin Media after trying to connect my highly anticipated and awaited new laptop to the internet.
By telephone call number eight, I’m ashamed to say that I was intermittenly sobbing. It may sound pathetic and, you’d be right, it completely is.
“Hello, Virgin Media, Before we continue I need to inform you.....”
I helpfully interject at this point “calls are 25p per minute, networks and mobiles may vary and you will be charged a 10p connection fee –I KNOW! ”
Virgin Operator now realises they are dealing with a nutjob and proceeds with caution. “How may I help you today, Miss Ruby?”
“This is my eighth phonecall to Virgin” I whisper in the tone of a horror baddie teetering on the edge of sanity. “I have been on the phone trying to resolve this issue for what is now approaching 5 hours” snarl, snarl. “Four members of your staff have said they’ll call me back - they haven’t”. Big dramatic breath. “All I want to do is connect my new laptop to the internet and for my old laptop to also remain connected to the internet rather than your operator connecting my new one whilst disconnecting my old one despite my queries to the operator of “are you sure you’re not disconnecting my old one?”. Huge huff.
“Okay Miss Ruby” says the robot operator turning to the script in her manual entitled “How To Fobb Off The Mentally Unbalanced Customer”. “What I need you to do is click on start, then type in cmd” she starts.
Now completely in character for my role as “Sarcastic Customer From Hell”, I jump ahead 10 stages and give her the IP address she’s trying to guide me through like the moron she assumes I am. Robot continues in monosyllabic tone, unimpressed by my newly acquired technical abilites and reports that there’s a fault. A fault that lies with Virgin. A fault that has been ongoing for 3 weeks and she has no idea when it might be resolved.
“So I have spent 3 hours on the phone to Dell at a cost of £10 for them to tell me there’s a problem with Virgin. A further 2 hours on the phone to Virgin at a cost of £30 for you to tell me it’s your fault but you have no idea when it might be fixed and now both my laptops aren’t working when previously at least my old one was”, I summarised helpfully.
“That is correct Miss Ruby” said the Robot with the indifference and superiority of someone far, far away and whose personal internet connection was just peachy.
Chickie begins giggling. He’s watered the rug with his blackcurrant fruit smoothie and is now using the spillage to colour in the white stripes purple.
That’s when the tears began to well and with a pathetic gurgle in my voice I wished the robot a good day and ended the call. Blaming my theatrical reaction on my hormone imbalance, I rang Snowy for some sympathy. “Calm down” he suggested. Big mistake. Snowy got an earful. Phone call terminated. More crying.
This blog will double up nicely as my letter of complaint to Mr Branson.
Take the time a colleague went kasplat into the glass wall of our office with an impact so forceful, her glasses needed replacing. A concerned enquiry as to her general well being and a helpful tug to her feet would have been the appropriate response, but hard to pull off sincerely when it ranks in the Top Ten of your funniest comedy accidents of all time.
However, today I have struggled very hard to find anything vaguely amusing about my telethon with Virgin Media after trying to connect my highly anticipated and awaited new laptop to the internet.
By telephone call number eight, I’m ashamed to say that I was intermittenly sobbing. It may sound pathetic and, you’d be right, it completely is.
“Hello, Virgin Media, Before we continue I need to inform you.....”
I helpfully interject at this point “calls are 25p per minute, networks and mobiles may vary and you will be charged a 10p connection fee –I KNOW! ”
Virgin Operator now realises they are dealing with a nutjob and proceeds with caution. “How may I help you today, Miss Ruby?”
“This is my eighth phonecall to Virgin” I whisper in the tone of a horror baddie teetering on the edge of sanity. “I have been on the phone trying to resolve this issue for what is now approaching 5 hours” snarl, snarl. “Four members of your staff have said they’ll call me back - they haven’t”. Big dramatic breath. “All I want to do is connect my new laptop to the internet and for my old laptop to also remain connected to the internet rather than your operator connecting my new one whilst disconnecting my old one despite my queries to the operator of “are you sure you’re not disconnecting my old one?”. Huge huff.
“Okay Miss Ruby” says the robot operator turning to the script in her manual entitled “How To Fobb Off The Mentally Unbalanced Customer”. “What I need you to do is click on start, then type in cmd” she starts.
Now completely in character for my role as “Sarcastic Customer From Hell”, I jump ahead 10 stages and give her the IP address she’s trying to guide me through like the moron she assumes I am. Robot continues in monosyllabic tone, unimpressed by my newly acquired technical abilites and reports that there’s a fault. A fault that lies with Virgin. A fault that has been ongoing for 3 weeks and she has no idea when it might be resolved.
“So I have spent 3 hours on the phone to Dell at a cost of £10 for them to tell me there’s a problem with Virgin. A further 2 hours on the phone to Virgin at a cost of £30 for you to tell me it’s your fault but you have no idea when it might be fixed and now both my laptops aren’t working when previously at least my old one was”, I summarised helpfully.
“That is correct Miss Ruby” said the Robot with the indifference and superiority of someone far, far away and whose personal internet connection was just peachy.
Chickie begins giggling. He’s watered the rug with his blackcurrant fruit smoothie and is now using the spillage to colour in the white stripes purple.
That’s when the tears began to well and with a pathetic gurgle in my voice I wished the robot a good day and ended the call. Blaming my theatrical reaction on my hormone imbalance, I rang Snowy for some sympathy. “Calm down” he suggested. Big mistake. Snowy got an earful. Phone call terminated. More crying.
This blog will double up nicely as my letter of complaint to Mr Branson.
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