Phone of contention
I have a phone again! Thank you God, thank you baby Jesus. It's only taken seven calls to 02, one visit to an 02 shop, £10 for a new Sim card and a two week wait - now that's what I call customer service. The man on the phone today sensed my rage was bubbling under the surface to the extent he gave me his email address if anything else should go wrong. It also turned out that when the man yesterday said the previous man had made a mistake, he was ironically unaware that he also had made a mistake. Ho ho! (I suppose he had, at least, made a new mistake instead.) How they must be chuckling about that at 02 Towers.
Anyway, my social leper-dom is over. I do feel slightly like I've been living in a reality TV programme this last fortnight. "We've taken away this girl's mobile phone. Look how hard everyday tasks have now become! Marvel as she actually has to make firm arrangements to meet people at particular places at specific times! Laugh heartily as she can't go to the pub with her friends because she doesn't know where they are!"
posted by galatea @ 5:25 PM
10 Comments:
Don't try to email the bloke though. You'll never get a response. You should have pushed for some money credited to your account - they're getting more liberal with that these days. But maybe that's because they've screwed up every single sodding upgrade I've ever had.
It's probably because the call centre is in runcorn.
I know it is unbelievable how attached to new technology we have become. I went through the exact same sense of withdrawl when my brother spilt a pint all over my mobile down the pub, wayyyy before pay-day so I couldn't purchase another one promptly... it was a nightmare! My mitts were twitching to text, lol :)
I've just added you to my blog-roll by the way - lovin your work!
The call centre is in Runcorn? They expect people from outside of Halton to understand the Runcorn accent? No wonder it was a nightmare, Galatea. Nothing good can ever come out of Runcorn.
What - like his hotmail account?
I used to do that when I was working at Route One (the award for most-disorganised-and-yet-still-faintly -successful company goes to...). Occasionally, (well - every week, really, so more 'regularly') their email server would decided eight in the evening on a saturday was a fine time to go off to a corner and cry. So I'd attempt to placate irate "skateboard moms" (note the 'o') trying desperately to get through to that most mythical of beasts the call centre manager, by giving them my personal hotmail account. Which would've been fine, only hotmail used to refuse almost all of it. I assume on account of the cursing.
Never, ever, do anything to upset a middle class mother. They bite, apparently.
Nah, his o2 account. He also named the bloke who gave me the second lot of crap as 'Alan', leading me to believe that the 'customer records' are a lot more detailed than they would have us believe.
Believe me customer records contain EVERYTHING. Used to work in a call centre selling insurance on behalf of a major bank - you're taught to know everything and reveal nothing. I almost got repetitive strain disorder by saying "I'm sorry sir" while crossing my fingers behind my back (which is no mean feat).
Glad to hear you've got your phone back - now I can text you journo related things. Such as why the Guardian decided to use a picture of Gordon Brown with half his face obscured by someone's shoulder on the front page this morning.
Saw this and thought of you:
http://xkcd.com/c70.html
I rather suspect the Guardianos was going for at-mos-fer-icks.
Wonderful GH link Leonie and so frighteningly true.
I'll tell you why: because it's the Guardian, and they regard anything too commercial (like, say, a lovely picture of a teenage girl jumping in the air on A-level results day) as vulgar.
i accidentally dropped my phone in water in the middle of a fight with my then-boyfriend. it was totally fried and i couldn't even call him from another phone because i had never learned his number.
by the way, i adore the name of your blog. i'm there, sista!
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