In lieu of the post that I had set aside a few hours for creating on Tuesday night, I have a public service announcement. Ladies, gentlemen, everyone; don’t leave your home without your keys.
Because if you do, you might end up in the invidious circumstances I did this evening – namely, sitting on your own front steps for nearly three hours, clad in a thin shirt and sandals on a brisk British late summer evening, waiting for a locksmith to come and open your door in 30 seconds by dextrously manipulating a bit of plastic, and then to charge you over £100 for the privilege.
Now, to be fair, I’m not angry with the locksmith guy; he’s just doing his job, and it is my own muppetude* that landed me in the situation in the first place (“hmmm, need cigarettes, best head out to the shop…now where’s my [click of deadlock] wallet and keys?”).
However, the mishandling of my call at the call center-type place that sends the contractors out to customers was beyond belief. I’ll go in to full detail when I’m less furious and less cold and tired, but suffice to say there’ll be some serious customer-service letter action aimed at their head office real soon – thanks to the locksmith being honest, I discovered that the ‘job’ that was my lock was only sent to his phone after the second call I made, which was 85 minutes after the initial one when I was told there would be a maximum 60 minute wait, as per their advert in the phone directory (the guy arrived over two and a half hours after my first call). I’ll talk more about the underquoting of prices and further teeth-gnashing details tomorrow. If I have the time. Damn it.
Grraaahhhahhahaa! The anger.
*Yes, muppetude. It’s a real word, an adjective that describes a person’s similarity in behaviour to a Jim Henson creation, most likely one of the bit-part Fraggles that never got any real lines or character development. Can’t find it in the dictionary? Email me your address, and I’ll come round and scribble it in there myself.