A Matter Of Confidence
Entry posted by caldrail
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In the beginning, God said "Let there be light". And he saw that it was good. So good in fact that we human beings have invented little contrivances to achieve the same result ever since. First we invented fire (and what fun we've had with that!), and finally in the 21st century we've reached the very pinnacle of light engineering, that silly little thing screwed into the ceiling of my bathroom. Unfortunately, and much to my chagrin, I'm not God, so now the blessed thing has stopped working.
Also, being a mere mortal, the mysterious workings of this lighting device are beyond my experience, and lacking the divine ability to fix and create with a flick of my fingers, I popped down to the letting agent and asked if they could send a man to see to it. Not an emergency, of course, but when you have the time. They smiled and I parted in a good mood.
The time and date was set - and no-one came. I exchanged a few mobile texts in which the contractor claimed I was not present, not listening, or not co-operating, but I answered all of those and he rang me eventually to set another time and date the following day.
And no-one came. So the following morning I was straight down to the letting agents office to let them know that this was going on. They arranged another time that afternoon. "You will switch your phone on?" The lady asked as I was about to leave. The cheek of it! yes, the phone will be on.
A little later than the specified time the contractor phoned me and told me his boy was outside knocking on the wrong door. Could I let him in? I assumed he meant my own premises and I duly went downstairs and opened the door. No-one there. Then a foreign handyman, a young polish lad of indifferent demeanour and speaking unexceptional pidgin english, popped his head out of the downstairs flat below where I live and told me he couldn't do anything because he didn't have the parts. What? But.... He buried his nose in his mobile phone and closed the door on me.
I was infuriated. I called the maintenance department of the letting agent and related my woes. Actually I don't think they were all too suprised to hear my complaint and she dragged the contractor away from his coffee to speak to me. He rattled off apology No 34 and tried to get me to accept another time this morning. Oh? Can he get the parts to fix my bathroom light in 24 hours? I'm not falling for that one. I stopped him short and requested he arrive on the following Tuesday. That should give him enough time.
He agreed to the time and date, possibly with witnesses at his end. Then he added "But I might not be able to turn up."
I got annoyed. What is the point of setting a time and date for a repair if you've no intention of keeping it? I've sat there for three afternoons and all I've gotten so far is 'tough luck mate' and some guy airily telling me over the phone that he doesn't answer to me and doesn't like being spoken to in such a manner. Oh really? Then maybe a good policy might be to not fob off your customers.
They're All At It, You Know
At times like this I wish my title had some medieval authority. I'd have that idiot boiled in oil. Take a deep breath and forget the self-important cowboy the letting agent use for domestic repairs. It's still insufferably hot and I just can't be bothered to do anything but watch television. Good grief, I've watched more television in the last month than I have over the last year!
It seems the channel lists have changed and I need to retune my receiver. Luckily my receiver was designed to be used by people over the age of nine and thus was a simple and quick procedure. Now I even more shop-at-home channels advertising great new gizmos that no home could possibly do without, and exactly the sort of item you stuff in the cupboard and never use twice.
The energetic young american with a microphone headpiece (don't they have recording equipment in that tv studio?) is squeezing water from a piece of space age cloth that is apparently a miracle of science. Give me a break. The only miracle here is whether I'd part money for that tatty old rag. What a con.
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