Buttercup Yellow
Aug. 13th, 2011 04:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
todayiamadaisyAfter all this time! I have finally found my purpose in life! It turns out the one thing I most want to do above all others is play Nola on the piano. To this end, I have ordered the sheet music today. Apparently my goal in life is to be Liberace. Who knew?
* * * * *
We had to make some changes to our work phone accounts on Friday, all four of them, so I girded my loins, so to speak, to ring Telstra. Always fun, that. My boss had a better idea: 'Go to the Telstra Business shop,' he said. 'They'll do it all for you.' I thought he meant the Telstra shop, which is one of those gleaming white outfits where someone with a microphone headpiece asks at the door why you're there and relays the response to the service desk so they have what you want before you reach them. It doesn't always work that smoothly, but they try and they generally know what they're doing, which is all I ask, really. Apparently, though, there is a separate shop for business clients to use, tucked into an out-of-the-way pocket at the back of a car park, and this is where I headed.
Well. In the front part of the office, all alone, was a young receptionist. I told her why I was there and she all but rolled her eyes at my effrontery in dragging her away from her busy morning of doing nothing. Did I have an appointment? Well, I didn't know the place existed until ten minutes earlier, so no, no, I didn't have appointment. I told her we had apparently dealt with someone called Aaron before. She disappeared into the back of the building, emerging with a young man, who came up to me and said, 'Yes?' Was he Aaron?, I asked. No, Aaron's away for the rest of the week. Silence. 'So who are you?' I asked. We established that he was Karl and we sat at a desk near the receptionist.
I had brought photocopies of the last bill for each account so I had the account numbers to hand, and noted on each what needed to be changed. I thought I would just hand them over, but no, Karl had to write each account number and its instructions on a special sheet of paper. To be fair, once he got started, he knew what he was doing, although if he'd just taken my photocopies or used a computer, he could have done it much faster.
Meanwhile, a man came in and asked to talk to someone about his accounts. That poor receptionist, run off her feet with two customers in one morning! She gave him the same 'do you have an appointment?' treatment she gave me, before saying she couldn't get someone to help him because Karl was the only person there and he's helping 'that lady' (pointing at me). I don't know that I was meant to hear that, but I turned and gave them a little wave. 'So you'll have to make an appointment,' she finished. The man wasn't having that. Could he, perhaps, just wait, maybe in the waiting area? At that point, Karl asked me a question, so I lost track of the conversation. By the time Karl started writing again, the man had won: the receptionist had disappeared into the back of the office and came back with an older woman.
Like Karl with me, the older woman didn't introduce herself to the man. Unlike Karl, who seemed fairly decent, the woman went straight into an aggressive 'how can I help you?' tone with the man, clearly upset that he had interrupted her busy morning of avoiding customers. He started telling her, politely, about his office's internet connection not working properly, and she stopped him, saying, 'Oh, that's nothing to do with us, we don't deal with connections.' 'Well, who does?' asked the man, and there was, finally, just a tiny edge to his voice.
Sadly, at that point, Karl finished writing and handed over both his and Aaron's business cards, telling me if I had any more issues I could email one of them and they'd sort it for me. Thus dismissed, I had to leave, when all I really wanted to do was stay and find out how many more ways they could annoy the man until he snapped.
Back at work, I looked up their website. They claim to be 'passionate about helping local businesses with their communications'. Okay then. The website also says: 'Drop in, make an appointment, or we'll come to you.' I'm not sure if that last bit is an offer or a threat.
We had to make some changes to our work phone accounts on Friday, all four of them, so I girded my loins, so to speak, to ring Telstra. Always fun, that. My boss had a better idea: 'Go to the Telstra Business shop,' he said. 'They'll do it all for you.' I thought he meant the Telstra shop, which is one of those gleaming white outfits where someone with a microphone headpiece asks at the door why you're there and relays the response to the service desk so they have what you want before you reach them. It doesn't always work that smoothly, but they try and they generally know what they're doing, which is all I ask, really. Apparently, though, there is a separate shop for business clients to use, tucked into an out-of-the-way pocket at the back of a car park, and this is where I headed.
Well. In the front part of the office, all alone, was a young receptionist. I told her why I was there and she all but rolled her eyes at my effrontery in dragging her away from her busy morning of doing nothing. Did I have an appointment? Well, I didn't know the place existed until ten minutes earlier, so no, no, I didn't have appointment. I told her we had apparently dealt with someone called Aaron before. She disappeared into the back of the building, emerging with a young man, who came up to me and said, 'Yes?' Was he Aaron?, I asked. No, Aaron's away for the rest of the week. Silence. 'So who are you?' I asked. We established that he was Karl and we sat at a desk near the receptionist.
I had brought photocopies of the last bill for each account so I had the account numbers to hand, and noted on each what needed to be changed. I thought I would just hand them over, but no, Karl had to write each account number and its instructions on a special sheet of paper. To be fair, once he got started, he knew what he was doing, although if he'd just taken my photocopies or used a computer, he could have done it much faster.
Meanwhile, a man came in and asked to talk to someone about his accounts. That poor receptionist, run off her feet with two customers in one morning! She gave him the same 'do you have an appointment?' treatment she gave me, before saying she couldn't get someone to help him because Karl was the only person there and he's helping 'that lady' (pointing at me). I don't know that I was meant to hear that, but I turned and gave them a little wave. 'So you'll have to make an appointment,' she finished. The man wasn't having that. Could he, perhaps, just wait, maybe in the waiting area? At that point, Karl asked me a question, so I lost track of the conversation. By the time Karl started writing again, the man had won: the receptionist had disappeared into the back of the office and came back with an older woman.
Like Karl with me, the older woman didn't introduce herself to the man. Unlike Karl, who seemed fairly decent, the woman went straight into an aggressive 'how can I help you?' tone with the man, clearly upset that he had interrupted her busy morning of avoiding customers. He started telling her, politely, about his office's internet connection not working properly, and she stopped him, saying, 'Oh, that's nothing to do with us, we don't deal with connections.' 'Well, who does?' asked the man, and there was, finally, just a tiny edge to his voice.
Sadly, at that point, Karl finished writing and handed over both his and Aaron's business cards, telling me if I had any more issues I could email one of them and they'd sort it for me. Thus dismissed, I had to leave, when all I really wanted to do was stay and find out how many more ways they could annoy the man until he snapped.
Back at work, I looked up their website. They claim to be 'passionate about helping local businesses with their communications'. Okay then. The website also says: 'Drop in, make an appointment, or we'll come to you.' I'm not sure if that last bit is an offer or a threat.