Archive for the 'rants' Category

No.

Almost as irritating as James Martin’s Asda campaign, furniture adverts which state a series of numbers instead of a proper British price. “It’s just eight nine nine!” enthuses some grinning moron.

No.

It’s eight hundred and ninety-nine pounds.

Stop it.

 

Pedantry

“Gifting.”

It’s not a word, is it? “Gift” is a noun, not a verb.

Why can’t we just say “Gifts” or “present ideas”.

I bet they use “actionning” too. Please don’t encourage them.

“Best Christmas Ever”

I hope, when my time on earth is over, to have experienced over 80 christmases. I think it highly unlikely that the purchase of some cheap, sparkly gold plates from Wilko will transform one of them into “the best Christmas ever” as per the current radio advert. Why do advertisers think we’re all morons?

Very Essex-Girl

I need help. I’m after a pair of nice white shoes or sandalls to wear with a white and green dress for my sister’s wedding in a few weeks’ time. At the moment, every single pair of shoes I own is black. I don’t even own a brown or a red pair – but I’m really struggling.  

There are no white shoes.

Lots of lovely shoes out there, but nothing in white.

I may have to go looking like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.

Yuk.

I wish to make a complaint….

All I did was ring BT to find out where the equipment they had told me they’d ordered for me had got lost, as a month had gone by and I’d seen not hide nor hair of the thing.

If they’d told me that they had forgotten to order it, and it hadn’t yet been sent out, I’d have been OK with that. I wouldn’t have even been annoyed – I’d have got it ordered and been on my way.

But No.

BT went to great lengths to take a fairly amenable customer, who so far had been really happy with their service, and piss them off so much that they made a formal complaint. I made 5 calls to BT altogether, and one to a courier who had never heard of me. I got cut-off twice, re-routed 4 times and sent on a fool’s errand once.

I’m not easy to piss off, but, my, was I angry by the end of it.    

I’m now waiting for the trained apologist (or whatever) from customer service to ring me in connection with my complaint, so I can tell them, in a constructive way, what they should be doing about their service.

I’ll let you know.

In the meantime, has anyone got any BT horror stories?

Dear Miss N

Dear Miss N,

Considering the attitude you had to your work and fellow colleagues, one would be forgiven for thinking you’d be quite pleased to have been released from your contractual obligations, though I quite understand that being dismissed never feels like a positive experience at the time. I also accept that you felt the need, due to your woefully inadequate understanding of computers, to appeal the decision to terminate your contract. When you knew that you would be facing a hearing to state your case to stay in employment, or else, to justify claiming compensation from the company, you should have concentrated on the facts of the original case, and any mitigation you might have been able to produce in order to save your dignity. However, you instead decided that distracting the panel with a poorly-constructed grievance would suffice, and that, my dear, is where you let yourself down once again.

Having had the original decision to dismiss you upheld by the appeals panel, you persisted with your grievance, which was foolish. In my considered opinion your grounds for complaint are childish, badly thought out and smack strongly of playground tantrums and sour grapes. You have nothing to gain from this escapade but causing more chaos and disruption in your wake, and since you have chosen to pursue it, I cannot see that there is any other reason for you to do so, but to hurt as many people as you can.

The gentle people you left behind, who tried to like you, and did their best to tolerate your sullen and obstructive behaviour, are the ones who suffered most. They are exhausted and cynical, tired and broken. They were not the best managers in the world – their fault is that they tried to be nice when they should have been harsh. You should be ashamed at your behaviour, and remorseful about the pain and suffering you have caused – but I fear that you care about nothing and no-one but you.

One day you will learn that what you give out you get back.

Good luck, Miss N. You will need it, where you’re going.

Yours sincerely,

Spaniel

 

Big and Clever

I’ve just been to the supermarket at 9.30pm on a Saturday night. Half an hour before closing, the store is quiet and eerie – the music has stopped and the staff have that purposeful look about them, tidying, clearing, stacking. If you catch their eye the look they give you says: ‘hurry up and get your shopping, member of the public. I really want to get out of here on time. Its Saturday night, you know.

So I did my shopping. Not much, but milk and bread, bacon, cheese and a few other bits and pieces to get me though the next few days. I don’t know when I’ll next have the opportunity to get to the supermarket, so this is a tide-me-over shop.

Anyway, as I leave the shop, the shutter is half down, to discourage late-night wanderers from heading inside in the last 5 minutes before closedown, but the security man opens it to let me out. I push my small trolley towards the car – which isn’t far away – and get my keys and prepare to stow my shopping in the boot.

As I get to the car, I hear a commotion. Up near the cash points I see a small black car screech away from a standing start, with its front passenger door wide open. A girl all in pink with big hoopy* earrings tries in vain to get into the car, then gives it up as a bad job and starts swearing at the top of her voice. The expletives are so thick and fast and gutteral, I can barely understand them, but I know that they are there because she finishes the sentence with ‘…ya prick.’ She glares, and marches off to her equally pinkly-dressed friend. The ‘boys’ in the car stop a few yards away, car-door still agape. A heated conversation ensues between two boys from the car, through hastily wound-down windows, and the two pink girls. There are more swear-words per sentence than actual meaningful words. Hoopy-earring girl is the worst of the bunch, but not by much. The competition is stiff.  

‘Distinct lack of useful vocabulary’ I found myself saying as I got in my car and locked the doors, and instantly felt old. ‘Is this how you tell when you’ve grown up? You’re a grown-up because you can swear?’

Of course not.

Anyone can swear; age is not important. Mouthing off using a string of expletives is easily done and requires very little skill or intelligence at all.

The real grown-ups know that swearing is only effective if used occasionally at just the right moment.  Then a single swearword is like a piece of fleeting artwork. It is beautiful for one single, shining moment. There, on show, briefly, for all to see, but gone just as quickly.      

That’s the kind of swearing I like. The impressive stuff.

Not this chavvy rubbish.