Service/Retail Grief.
‘I’m sorry,’ says the Unsympathetic Woman, ‘but we can’t do anything with that. It is far too dirty.’
I blink for a bit.
‘Pardon?’ I say.
‘Your coat. You’ll have to clean it before we can do anything with it.’
I am in a Dry-Cleaning Emporium. Brandishing an overcoat. My only overcoat. It is apparently offensive in that it is not in pristine condition.
‘I need to take my coat away. And then clean it myself. With my hands. And then bring it back. So that you can then clean it?’
‘I’m afraid so, yes. It is far too dirty for us to consider.’
‘Right.’
I then proceed to the You Can Purchase Anything Imaginable Emporium. I require a new keyboard for my computing machine so that people reading my emails do not suspect me of being a drunkard/imbecile when they see that every other letter of each word is missing.
In order to acquire this I have to leaf through a laminated catalogue until I see a picture of my desired item. I then have to write an arcane code onto something that resembles a betting slip.
Taking the betting slip to a troglodyte behind a small computing machine of her own results in my paying for the item. After queuing for a bit. Despite never having even seen it.
The troglodyte then refuses to surrender my coveted purchase.
It seems I have to join another queue. And wait to receive the item I have just paid for. Strictly speaking my keyboard has been stolen before I have even touched it. After suffering wipe-clean magazines and arcane rituals involving betting slips.
Three people before me are informed, before their stolen goods are presented to them, that the goods themselves are not exactly as they would have imagined. In that they are different items altogether. And is that O.K?
When I reach the desk of Kidnapped Goods That Rightly Belong To Someone Who Paid For Them Fifteen Minutes Previously the following exchange takes place:
‘Seems like a bit of a lucky dip here.’ Say I.
’43?’ Says he.
It has been an unsatisfactory afternoon.
I blink for a bit.
‘Pardon?’ I say.
‘Your coat. You’ll have to clean it before we can do anything with it.’
I am in a Dry-Cleaning Emporium. Brandishing an overcoat. My only overcoat. It is apparently offensive in that it is not in pristine condition.
‘I need to take my coat away. And then clean it myself. With my hands. And then bring it back. So that you can then clean it?’
‘I’m afraid so, yes. It is far too dirty for us to consider.’
‘Right.’
I then proceed to the You Can Purchase Anything Imaginable Emporium. I require a new keyboard for my computing machine so that people reading my emails do not suspect me of being a drunkard/imbecile when they see that every other letter of each word is missing.
In order to acquire this I have to leaf through a laminated catalogue until I see a picture of my desired item. I then have to write an arcane code onto something that resembles a betting slip.
Taking the betting slip to a troglodyte behind a small computing machine of her own results in my paying for the item. After queuing for a bit. Despite never having even seen it.
The troglodyte then refuses to surrender my coveted purchase.
It seems I have to join another queue. And wait to receive the item I have just paid for. Strictly speaking my keyboard has been stolen before I have even touched it. After suffering wipe-clean magazines and arcane rituals involving betting slips.
Three people before me are informed, before their stolen goods are presented to them, that the goods themselves are not exactly as they would have imagined. In that they are different items altogether. And is that O.K?
When I reach the desk of Kidnapped Goods That Rightly Belong To Someone Who Paid For Them Fifteen Minutes Previously the following exchange takes place:
‘Seems like a bit of a lucky dip here.’ Say I.
’43?’ Says he.
It has been an unsatisfactory afternoon.
posted by Tired Dad at
9:24 pm
24 Comments:
Don't you just love Argos........
But my toaster came in at 2-1, so it wasn't all a waste of time
Ah, you paint such a lovely picture with words.
kissme: Good one.
grax: Thanks.
I know what you mean, I have an old leather jacket I'm afraid to take to the cleaners. I've been afraid for about three years already - I'll need nerves of steel when I do finally do it.
tee hee
unsatisfactory for YOU maybe...
but how much fun would it be to send clients home to do their own dirty work!!!
Leather wear (as in coats/jackets - not sure it works on underwear.....) leather wipes on the outside, Fabreze on the inside.
Well at least you don't pong as much
If they'd taken it they would probably have wrecked it and been startled when you refused to pay.
I once had a coat returned with all its buttons exploded.
'You didn't tell us you had plastic-covered metal buttons, they accused.
'I didn't know either - isn't that your job?
Long phone calls, nothing.
'We don't stock that kind of button so we can't repair it.
Just don't go there. To dry cleaners I mean. Around here they are brain dead or terminally depressed - it's the solvents you know.
I recall that someone said that Argos was like Ikea, but for ne'er do wells.
I wonder why he wanted to know your age?
I once filled in a betting slip for a portable cd player and they tried to give me a lawn mower. I wouldn't have minded but I haven't a lawn.
Ms Baroque: It can't be that bad. My overcoat suffered an Exorcist-style bought of car sickness courtesy of Favourite Daughter. I've cleaned it as best I can but I just want the undesirable odour to disappear.
kissme: That advice is no use to me. I didn't say you could talk amongst yourselves. (I am cantankerous. Do not be offended.)
Andrew: I'm sure you're right.
m_g: Congrats on the use of the phrase "ne-er do wells." I salute you.(Your blog is shiiiiiiiiiiiiit.)
Dinners: My age? It took me ten minutes to get that.
Actually mr_glide, your blog is gone, as I've just discovered. Now you can never prove a case of plaigarism against non-working monkey for her post on tele-marketers.
Totally haven't read the post yet. Just wanted to say thank fuck there IS a new post :)
Right, going back to read it now. Hope it's good.
Yeah, it's good. Bloody humans.
Also, what's Argos?
Argos: Son of Zeus and patron of surly teenage cunts.
Actually Argos is initials and stands for A Right Gang Of Shysters.
Point of Law if a vendor (and in the case of Argos I use the term loosly) debits your credit card when they do not have the goods in stock, it is called Credit Card Fraud. It happend to me at Ikea and when I spitefully pointed this out to the little twerp mascarading as a "manager" he nearly shat in his nappy.
Ahh Argos, you gotta love it... well actually you don't, i fucking hate the place. (this is polaroid princess btw, just changed blog and all that)
It's because you used the word "pardon". Awful word.
Argos is shit. You would miss it if you moved to the other side of the world and din't have the option to hate it though. The powers that be have finally "blesssed" W.A with a singular IKEA store. The Australian patrons have yet to work out that on entering said blue and yellow store you are supposed to behave like an ignorant twat, so it's actually a tolerable (if mind numbing) experience to go there should you deem it neccessary. Argos would not translate here. The Aussies wouldn't queue for crap they didnt really want in the first place.
Nice Blog by the way.
TD: That's right - but it was smothered in the most humane way possible. Even the telemarketing post couldn't save it, sadly. I have plenty more shiiiiiiiiit stuff on the go without adding a poorly-written, seldom-updated blog to the current steaming heap.
Quick: Look, I've got a lot on my plate at the minute. But thanks.
Fwengebola: Well said.
Boris: I wouldn't say that was spiteful.
ThinkPink: Why the change?
NWM: For someone that uses the word 'cunt' as a term of endearment you are on thin fucking ice.
FF: Welcome and thank you.
M_G: Well said. Not having sampled the myspazz content, I really couldn't comment.
ha ha ha i enjoyed that, retail therapy. i live in belgium famous for it's lack of customer service. I once took back something that was broken. I had the reciept, it was the day after i bought it..
shop 'assistant' (sa): but madam you have opened the package
me: how else would i know it was broken?
sa: but we do not refund or exchange anything that has been opened.
pah, this exchange involved TWo managers went on for an HOUR and ended up with me getting my cash back and promptly bursting into tears after I'd left the shop.
i hate confrontation but i hate bad service more!
Cunts.
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