Not Helpful Service

Girl –  “Hello, Surgery?” (Went up at the end of the statement so it sounded like a question)

Me –  “Er, hi.  Is this the Medical Centre?”

Girl –  “Mmm hmm”.

Me –  “Oh hello, I’m calling because I need to register a new patient with you”.

Girl –  “Ok”.

(Awkward silence)

Me –  “Erm, it’s for my wife.  She’s American and she’s now resident in the UK, so the next step is to get her registered with a doctor in case she ever gets ill”.

(Long silence)

Girl –  “Right.  Ok.  She just needs to come in, fill in some forms and bring photo identification and proof of address; like a utility bill.  Ok?”

Me –  “Great, thanks.  But she’s from America and has only been here a month so she won’t have a utility bill in her name”. 

Girl –  “She lives in America?”

Me –  “No, she lives here now”.

Girl –  “Is she here, like, forever?”

Me –  “Well, certainly for the next three years”

Girl –  “So she isn’t leaving soon?”

Me –  “I certainly hope not!  Ha ha!”

(No reaction.  Nothing.  A tumbleweed rolls by)

Me –  “No, she has her visa now which means she’s a UK resident.  She just needs to be registered with a doctor and seeing as I’m registered with you, it makes sense she is too”.

Girl –  “Ok.  Well she just needs to come in to fill out some forms and we’ll sort it from there”.

Me –  “Great.  Now, she won’t have a utility bill in her name, but she did recently receive a letter confirming her National Insurance number which has her name and address on it.  Will that do?”

Girl –  “Her ‘what’ number?”

Me –  “Her National Insurance number”.

Girl –  “What’s that?”

(You’ve got to be joking!)

Me –  “It’s the number that is allocated to you so that contributions from your salary are made to the National Health Service for things like, you know, hospital treatment and DOCTORS.  That’s why I’m registering her now”.

Girl –  “Oh, right.  Ok.  So yeah, get her to come in”.

Me –  “Ok, but will that letter be enough or should I get her to bring in a utility bill with my name on it to prove the address?  Obviously we have the same surname”.

Girl –  “Er….let me just check”.

(Oh hold.  For ages)

Girl –  “Hello?”

Me –  “Hi”.

Girl –  “Does she hold a UK passport?”

Me –  “No, she’s American.  It’s an American passport”.

Girl –  “So it’s not a British one?”

Me –  “No”.

Girl –  “Oh right”.

Me –  “I mean, she’s here on a visa so she’s now resident in the UK, so it’s fine.  How do you usually register a patient?”

Girl –  “Er, I’m not sure; hold the line”.

(On hold again)

Girl –  “Hello?”

Me –  “Hi”.

Girl –  “Can I call you back?  I just need to check on this and call you back”.

Me –  “Sure”.

I’m convinced I’ve literally just had this conversation with a bored patient in the doctor’s waiting room who answered the phone because the receptionist was off somewhere having a colossal shit.

receptionist

The customer is(n’t) always (b)right

You know when you call a company and the automated voice explains that your call may be recorded for training and quality purposes?  Well, I’m the person who listens to those calls.

Here is an interaction between one of our sales team (let’s call her Sandy) and a female customer.

 

Woman   “I’m interested in getting some information about a holiday to Dubai”

Sandy     “Let me check that for you, what date are you looking to travel?”

Woman   “I can’t hear you very well, you’re very faint”

Sandy     “Ok, give me one second”

 

* loud and crackly sounds of a telephone headset being furiously fumbled with and adjusted*

 

Sandy     “Is that better?”

Woman   “Yes that’s a bit better”

Sandy     “Oh lovely, ok so what dates….”

 

*interrupted by the customer*

 

Woman   “No, I still can’t hear you that well”

 

*fumble, crackle, fumble*

 

Sandy     “How’s that?”

Woman   “You’re still quite faint”

 

*fumble, fumble, crackle, fumble*

 

Sandy     “OK, IS THAT ANY BETTER?” (She’s almost shouting now)

Woman   “Yes, that’s a bit better”

Sandy     “OK GREAT, SO WHAT DATES….”

 

*interrupted by the customer*

 

Woman   “Hang on, I’ll just turn my radio down”

 

Proof that stupidity still lives amongst us.

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Mutton grumble…

This evening at Victoria station could have been described as bedlam. Or, alternatively, bat shit crazy with a massive dose of dumb fuckery.

Basically there had been a power cut and the electronic display boards (that tell the sheep which platform their train will be departing from) weren’t working properly. By this I mean they were ON, but not displaying anything except ‘please listen for announcements’; a big issue for display boards methinks.

I soon realised this when I’d spied a small, aggressive, uniformed woman stood at the front of the bleating flock with far too much power and a megaphone.

Despite this, a lot of the sheep were still stood under the undisplaying boards,  looking up with dead eyes and mouths agape,  expecting the magic orange words to change from ‘please listen for announcements’ to which platform they needed to be herded to.  A lot of them were drooling.

Baa….

I stood amongst the dumb flocks and waited for little Miss Megaphone to point us in the right direction. She kept talking into her radio and I wondered if she was calling in a couple of sheepdogs in high vis jackets to get the masses to their platforms. Maybe the megaphone was reserved for whistles and the occasional “good boy!”.

I hoped so.

Alas, she pointed it at the crowd, pressed the trigger and cleared her throat. The old woman next to her jumped so hard her teeth fell out.

Ok, not quite…but she could’ve cleared her throat quietly BEFORE using the amplification qualities of this vocal menace.

*KRRKT!*
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!”
*KRRKT!*

A few of the sheep looked down from the undisplays, closed their mouths and wiping away their drool to focus on what she had to say.

*KRRKT!*
“PLEASE BE AWARE THAT DUE TO A POWER CUT EARLIER TODAY THE BOARDS ARE NOT DISPLAYING ANY PLATFORM INFORMATION… !”
*KRRKT!*

She then began to list off all the upcoming trains and their platforms. A lot of the sheep amazingly ignored her and looked back up at the undisplay boards, resuming their open mouthed drooling.  The floor was becoming shiny.

Baa…

*KRRKT!*
“THE HORSHAM TRAIN WILL BE DEPARTING FROM PLATFORM 17”

“Excuse me” interrupted a small woman.

*KRRKT!*
“YES?”

“Aargh!”

“Sorry… yes?”

“Is this the Horsham train?”, asked the woman pointing to platform 17.

“Yes it is.”, said the unamplified harbinger of trains.

“Thankyou”.  As she trotted off I saw her ask another guard which train was stood at platform 17.

Brilliant.

If it’s not displayed in orange and black then the seed of doubt starts to grow. What is wrong with people? Are we that reliant on technology that we don’t trust a person? Who do you think supplies the (un)display boards with information in the first place? R2-fucking-D2?

Typically my train was the only one running late. This resulted in more blank, drooling stares at the boards as if somehow the megaphoned harpy or the constant audio announcements were somehow misinformed.

Baa…

Finally my train was announced and the flock surged forward, being filtered through the barriers like sheep through a dip.

Baa…

Some of us slipped.

image

Exit left, right?

Today we visited Disney World in Orlando. It was an expected series of events including a lot of ‘cast members’ with coat hanger smiles, planetoid sized people with huge buckets of full fat Coke and loads of able bodied lazy fuckers on rented mobility scooters; hacking their way through the crowds like the bulls in Pamplona.

But the best part of the day by far was when we were due to get off the car park transfer at Hollywood Studios. We started to slow down and the cheesy American voice announced that we were to disembark on the right.

No problem.

She then re-confirmed it was on the right.

Ok, fair enough.

Then she re-re-confirmed it was on the right.

Really? I suppose this is for the American market.

She then said “that’s the same side as the sidewalk and the trash cans”

I think my I.Q. just dropped a few points.