It’s a thing of beauty and a positive joy forever to meet up with long-lost chums, and last weekend saw an abundance of joy in gathering up such a long-lost friend in our arms and whisking her home from the airport.
The previous week we decided our patio furniture was just not up to snuff, so we manfully strode out to the store to renew one and the same. Actually, we went out to buy a new barbecue starter and were met at three – count them – three stupendously large stores with matching stupendously large blank looks.
We came to the conclusion that a match would indeed light the old barbie, but the table and chairs could do with an upgrade.
Being totally put off by the first two stores, we tried our hand at the third. A small interjection here, while I am thinking of it. All of these stores are traded on the stock exchange and they couldn’t give me their shares even if they came with free barbecue starters for life.
So at Store Number 3 we found the patio set we wanted only to be told it wasn’t actually in stock, despite the fact we were sitting at the damned thing while being told, totally straight faced, that there it wasn’t.
We did a bit of a Jackie Gleeson at this stage: “Hummuna, hummuna, hummana,” with a bit of a desultory wave in the direction of the object of our desire. I’m telling you, Roebuck would be rolling in his grave, if he has indeed shuffled off this mortal coil, at the depths to which his store has sunk.
We decided to try our luck on line when we got home, found what we wanted, only to find it couldn’t be delivered till Sunday. More hummunas followed, but even the supervisor was crossed-armedly staunch in her unwavering attitude.
“Honey,” I asked, “you do your best urging face to face – let’s go back up to Store Number 3 and give it the Old Sir Charm.” Hrumphing as only Sir can, we strode forth again, looking like rejects from Trailer Park Estates, to find we were in fact quite poshly dressed.
To cut this part of a long story short, after much cajoling, summoning and then smooging of the manager, we had our baby. Almost.
Delivery (“that will be an extra charge”) will be on Thursday. Then we would have all the time in the world for the “some assembly required” part of the contract.
Sir bristled. No, he informed our manager, some assembly required is not part of our repertoire. So installation was arranged (“at an extra charge”), and off we finally went after a seeming eternity back home.
Wednesday night delivery called to say the appointed hour was nigh. It meant, as Sir’s work got in the way, that I too would need to take time off. We called installation only to be told that delivery would indeed perform the delivery and would erect our Erector Set on the spot. How fab, we thought.
Thursday I arrived home to see Sir pretty close to imitating a really good stroke. Phone in hand, gesticulating wildly and turning a rather remarkable puce-like color, he informed me that delivery wasn’t actually going to put anything together, and so there ensued 47 phone calls at a time when the chance of getting anyone still at a desk being slim to none.
But find someone we did, and our installer was going to arrive at 7:30 Friday morning. Cutting it a tad close to the arrival of our Sydney chum, I thought, but we’d make it.
Ah, but another small fly in the ointment. Sir – at this point I take a large breath – had to – I mean just had to – play golf at that time. “Oh,” said I through somewhat gritted teeth, “then I shall be only so delighted to stay home from work till he comes.”
What a good egg, or something like that, was the parting shot from Sir as he exited stage left for bed.
Well I’m telling you. I don’t suffer lateness gladly, and I was in full en-seethe by 7:40 when the phone rang with a bit of a moan from the installer who was a tad lost. Trying to talk him home with a lot of interruptions all I heard was “so I have the bank on my right, and then I – oh no!” Crunch. Not feeling horribly benevolent, through my now permanently gritted teeth, I asked “are you all right.” Oh, just a bit of a fender bender, the police would be there momentarily.
Oh, how fanmazingly wonderful. I can still cool my heels while Sir swans around the 1st, 2nd and probably 3rd. I’m surprised you didn’t catch a whiff of burning martyr at your place.
In the end we have our set, we’d collected our chum and all was well.
But wait – come Sunday: “Darling – did you notice there’s quite a large cut in the umbrella?”
Back on the phone with hours waiting. Locked rooms. Managers. Dilly serving people.
“Oh just bring it up and we’ll order a new one.” A 13-foot umbrella, in my car, ah, let me think – ah no. We’ll call you back. Yeah right, two days later no call.
Customer surveys? Oh bring em on. And I’ll tell them how we stopped the Amex payment.
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It’s a thing of beauty and a positive joy forever to meet up with long-lost chums, and last weekend saw an abundance of joy in gathering up such a long-lost friend in our arms and whisking her home from the airport.
The previous week we decided our patio furniture was just not up to snuff, so we manfully strode out to the store to renew one and the same. Actually, we went out to buy a new barbecue starter and were met at three – count them – three stupendously large stores with matching stupendously large blank looks.
We came to the conclusion that a match would indeed light the old barbie, but the table and chairs could do with an upgrade.
Being totally put off by the first two stores, we tried our hand at the third. A small interjection here, while I am thinking of it. All of these stores are traded on the stock exchange and they couldn’t give me their shares even if they came with free barbecue starters for life.
So at Store Number 3 we found the patio set we wanted only to be told it wasn’t actually in stock, despite the fact we were sitting at the damned thing while being told, totally straight faced, that there it wasn’t.
We did a bit of a Jackie Gleeson at this stage: “Hummuna, hummuna, hummana,” with a bit of a desultory wave in the direction of the object of our desire. I’m telling you, Roebuck would be rolling in his grave, if he has indeed shuffled off this mortal coil, at the depths to which his store has sunk.
We decided to try our luck on line when we got home, found what we wanted, only to find it couldn’t be delivered till Sunday. More hummunas followed, but even the supervisor was crossed-armedly staunch in her unwavering attitude.
“Honey,” I asked, “you do your best urging face to face – let’s go back up to Store Number 3 and give it the Old Sir Charm.” Hrumphing as only Sir can, we strode forth again, looking like rejects from Trailer Park Estates, to find we were in fact quite poshly dressed.
To cut this part of a long story short, after much cajoling, summoning and then smooging of the manager, we had our baby. Almost.
Delivery (“that will be an extra charge”) will be on Thursday. Then we would have all the time in the world for the “some assembly required” part of the contract.
Sir bristled. No, he informed our manager, some assembly required is not part of our repertoire. So installation was arranged (“at an extra charge”), and off we finally went after a seeming eternity back home.
Wednesday night delivery called to say the appointed hour was nigh. It meant, as Sir’s work got in the way, that I too would need to take time off. We called installation only to be told that delivery would indeed perform the delivery and would erect our Erector Set on the spot. How fab, we thought.
Thursday I arrived home to see Sir pretty close to imitating a really good stroke. Phone in hand, gesticulating wildly and turning a rather remarkable puce-like color, he informed me that delivery wasn’t actually going to put anything together, and so there ensued 47 phone calls at a time when the chance of getting anyone still at a desk being slim to none.
But find someone we did, and our installer was going to arrive at 7:30 Friday morning. Cutting it a tad close to the arrival of our Sydney chum, I thought, but we’d make it.
Ah, but another small fly in the ointment. Sir – at this point I take a large breath – had to – I mean just had to – play golf at that time. “Oh,” said I through somewhat gritted teeth, “then I shall be only so delighted to stay home from work till he comes.”
What a good egg, or something like that, was the parting shot from Sir as he exited stage left for bed.
Well I’m telling you. I don’t suffer lateness gladly, and I was in full en-seethe by 7:40 when the phone rang with a bit of a moan from the installer who was a tad lost. Trying to talk him home with a lot of interruptions all I heard was “so I have the bank on my right, and then I – oh no!” Crunch. Not feeling horribly benevolent, through my now permanently gritted teeth, I asked “are you all right.” Oh, just a bit of a fender bender, the police would be there momentarily.
Oh, how fanmazingly wonderful. I can still cool my heels while Sir swans around the 1st, 2nd and probably 3rd. I’m surprised you didn’t catch a whiff of burning martyr at your place.
In the end we have our set, we’d collected our chum and all was well.
But wait – come Sunday: “Darling – did you notice there’s quite a large cut in the umbrella?”
Back on the phone with hours waiting. Locked rooms. Managers. Dilly serving people.
“Oh just bring it up and we’ll order a new one.” A 13-foot umbrella, in my car, ah, let me think – ah no. We’ll call you back. Yeah right, two days later no call.
Customer surveys? Oh bring em on. And I’ll tell them how we stopped the Amex payment.
