Our neighbour lost his electricity tonight. This shouldn’t have been totally unexpected – he had asked to get the account switched over to him after his flatmate moved out on the weekend, so it was only natural that they should cut the power off instead.
So he rang them up, and after several millennia on hold waiting for a human to respond got an apparently quite grumpy operator who seemed to think it a bit of an imposition to ask to have the power switched back on.
She asked if the mains switch was on. Like he wouldn’t notice if he had decided to turn it off. Maybe she thought he sleepwalks? Or that little green leprachauns drunk after St Patricks Day had turned it off? "Because, you know if we send out a truck and it turns out the switch was off, we’ll bill you $130."
Oh, nice. "There’s no chance you didn’t just disconnect it by mistake?"
"None."
"Okay lady, send the truck. Send all the trucks you want. Send the whole damn fleet, just get my power back on, okay? Get my power back on before the meat spoils and I personally bring it to your office and ram it up your nose."
(You know I’m just making this up, don’t you? Poetic license, you know. 007, licensed to exaggerate.)
So, the truck comes, with Mr Straightforward Eric Honesty in the cab. "Looks like you got cut-off! Just reconnect it here, and… presto." And there was light.
Nice to know privatisation is bringing us better service.
