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quidity (1296)

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A relapsing reformed physicist.

Journal of quidity (1296)

Friday August 08, 2003
07:50 AM

An ode to a dishwasher

[ #13994 ]

I like this antiscript especially given my recent joy with Comet's delivery process. It all started a couple of weeks' ago, when our trusty washing machine shivered and spun its way to white goods heaven where it will wash half loads of frilly knickers and lace panties, and be reunited with the oddness of socks that it disappeared during its short but hard life.

So, there I was without my sturdy workhorse. I wiped a tear from my eye and set off to the Internet with a stout heart and a shiny credit card. A few clicks later and it was settled. The new machine would appear on Sunday, and be plugged in by highly trained pluggers.

Sunday came. I rose and smelt the excitement in the air. In a few hours time I could again have clean clothes and linen blowing merrily in the wind. I set myself up with a coffee and a book, and waited. And waited. And waited. By six in the evening, it was clear that the delivery wasn't going to happen... but no one had phoned to warn me, the skies hadn't even bothered to darken with mysterious portent. I was most confused, and somewhat miffed.

I try to ring the order line, but even their computer didn't want to talk to me on a Sunday. I check my email, just in case, and there's nothing there. Oh well, I think, and trudge my weary way to bed. Monday comes and I try to call again, I battle the computer at the center of the dark dungeons of their call center but soon grew lonely, deprived of a human voice and driven mad by hold music punctuated by adverts for satelite television. I give up for the day, all hope extinguished and head into work.

Time passes, the office heats up, I try to work but can't, distracted by happy visions of the Indesit frollocking over flash-clean checked tiles. Around lunchtime I get a call, "I've got a van outside your house, where the hell are you?".

"Eh? I'm at work, it being Monday, and all that."

"Oh you do know we were due to deliver today, right?"

"No... Sunday was what I asked for."

"Oh well, I'll put you done as postponed and someone will get back to you."

Well, at least I had some proof that I had ordered something, and that it could find its way to my home. But I was still left without a new machine. I wait all day for another call, but none arrive.

Returning home I check my email, and see a message from Comet informing me that they couldn't after all, deliver on Sunday, but would do so on Monday. So that's ok then. Shame they hadn't sent it sooner, mind. I bring together all my reserves of ressolve and take up the telephone again. This time, on the fifth time, I finally reach a real, live, person, and get to the actual point of this story...

I explained what had happened, and that it would be helpful if -- given the absolute shambles that had existed at their end -- they might see their way to delivering early on Friday morning. "Yes", she says, and a few clicks later I'm hit by a wall of silence.

"Is everything ok?", I venture.

"Er, no. You've not paid for a morning delivery, so it'll have to be all day Friday, I'm afraid"

"Hmmm, surely you can tell the system to ignore that, and deliver early?"

"No, I can't do. Sorry"

"Is there someone there who can tell the system to do that? A manager perhaps?"

"No, you just can't tell computers what to do, you know."

I roll my eyes, suggest she tries a little harder, and five minutes later I've got an early delivery organised. I'm writing well after lunchtime on Friday, and still I don't have my shiny new HotPoint. All that's left to me is the weilding of this Journal Entry of Consumer Disgust +2. Oh well... next time I'll just use John Lewis. In fact, I might add a junkbuster rule to replace the home page of Comet with the simple legend "Forget it, it's just not worth the hassle." in fifty point bold text.

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