Posts Tagged ‘call centre rage’

I am verging on insane, having spent unproductive hours on the British Embassy, Paris, website trying to get the renewal forms for Jock’s passport, downloading new software so I could print the forms, helping Jock (!) to fill them in, then back to the website, as you can’t pay by cheque, and need ANOTHER form to pay by credit card. 

Couldn’t find it by visiting every page on the website several times.  Rang the office in Paris, who told me by recorded message that they can no longer deal with passport enquiries, referred back to blankety blank website.  After another rootle round, I found a number to ring in UK, but they wouldn’t even hear the question until I’d given them credit card details, so that they could charge me 74 pence a minute to listen to me (plus the International call charge, natch!) 

The upshot was that I had to brave the infernal website again while the girl talked me through how to get the payment form.  She was a delightful Scottish girl and I asked her to tell the bosses that the site was the worst I’d come across in twenty years online, and to ask them how they thought my technincompoop husband of 78 would have coped if he were a widower.  I now have to pay £160 plus courier charges  to get the new passport delivered to us.  Jock hopes he doesn’t live another 10 years!

The upshot of this rigmarole was webweariness, aggravated antipathy, minimally mollified callcentre rage and ten years off my lifespan.


The Animal in Me

Posted: January 6, 2012 in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

I’m just a pussycat, really,
so why did I explode today –
use words I never use
to a poor defenceless call centre girl?
If I tell all, my blood pressure
will go through the roof again
so I won’t.

Suffice it to say that my bank
gave me the runaround,
passed me from pillar to post
and back again.  It took an hour
to make a transfer no different
from any of hundreds
that I’ve made in twenty years.

This is no poem, it’s a rant.
I did apologise for the language
if not for the rage that caused it.

“Ever have a day when you weren’t quite yourself, or maybe you felt like more than your usual self? Did someone cross you and your claws came out? Or, you needed to find the mustang within yourself and break free? Or perhaps you morphed into mama grizzly or ran with the wolves? On the other hand, you could even have found your inner sloth and spent all day relaxing! Find the animal within yourself, or within a character. We’re going to leave the actual critters at the zoo. I want the beast inside you to come out. Or the animal beauty!” This was the prompt that met my eyes at  just after I had put the phone down on the bank, snarling and spitting.  No animal beauty in me I’m afraid.  I used some of my spleen to write what my bank manager Dad used to call a stinker of a letter which I will not send until I’ve cooled down!