I have a bit of history when it comes to documenting my dealings with customer services departments of various companies.  My confrontations with GE Capital Bank and Tesco are legendary (in my head), as are my bizarre complaints about the lack of availability of Pepsi in Rome and granulated sugar-coated doughnuts at Greggs.

Before the days of social media, dealings with companies had to be via e-mail, or over the telephone.  I’m not very good on the telephone.  I’m certain there’s something wrong in my head whereby I completely lose track of what I’m saying when I’m talking to people.  Stress takes over, my synapses misfire and I go into a confused meltdown, during which I could well be reciting the lyrics to Dance this mess around instead of formulating a logical argument and presenting my position in such a way that I get what I want.

“I ain’t no Linberger!”

I find it a lot easier to write things things down.

Making complaints, or raising concerns, about products or services has become so much easier in the age of Twitter, but I bet this presents a nightmare the customer services teams of any company with an internet presence, unless it’s Whirpool, because they just don’t give a crap what people think of their shit products and terrible customer service.

The thing about Twitter is that, whereas a telephone conversation or e-mail exchange is privy solely to the parties concerned, a person’s comment or complaint about a company on Twitter shows that company’s performance up to a global audience.  This means that the companies must have people scanning their twitter feed 24/7 in order that they can respond to a comment in a timely fashion… for all the world to see.

It’s fucking BRILLIANT!

Until that is, you get something like this happening:

Which was then followed by this:

Which was fine, great in fact.  Then THIS happened:

This is their equivalent of saying, “Ok bitch, we’re looking into your query, just keep your fucking mouth shut until we get back to you or we’re sending the lads round to set fire to your hair.”

The same thing happened with the impossible-to-leave LinkedIn last week.

But of course, the reason they followed me was because of this:

Yep, so I could direct message them with some personal information so they could only credit me with £3 worth of Nectar Points!

All sorted and I didn’t even have to take the dodgy tomatoes back to Salford.  They wouldn’t have made it anyway.  It was like something out of one of those old Sinbad films from the 1970s and 80s where the many-headed mythological monster is vanquished by the hero and decays, jerkily, before our very eyes. Or the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz… “Melting… I’m meltiiiing!”

Despite the happy and very swift conclusion to our exchange this evening, they’re still following me. I’m expecting a punishment beating next time I go to Salford.  Nothing new there then.

But it must be great being on the Twitter desk of a company’s customer service team.  Imagine some of the bizarre tweets that people send. In fact, as I was paying for my goods this afternoon, I was insulted by the volume of the woman on the self checkout.  It was ludicrously loud.  I felt like I was being shouted at and was on the verge of tweeting @sainsburys to ask why the default volume isn’t set lower and why they need to go that loud anywayforfuck’ssake.  Anticipating the “why didn’t you just turn the volume down?” response, I decided to leave it.  Until the next time.  Why though?  Why are they so fucking loud?  Could you imagine if the till assistants shouted at you at that volume?

High anxiety

Anyway, since it is approaching my bedtime, I should try to relax and be calm.  The Anxiety levels in the house are at an all time high at the moment.  The little dog is insanely jealous of the little cat.  Well, he’s insanely jealous of the little cat’s food, which smells like poo.  Poo that has to sit on the desk in my back bedroom because it’s the only place that the dog can’t get to it and the cat can eat in peace.  The cat eats like a spas and throws his food all over the place.  My beautiful computer and its accessories are covered in Felix splashes.  I woke this morning to find that he’d nudged his bowl from the desk and spilled the faeces-like contents all over my desk chair.

Then there’s the litter tray, which because of lack of space elsewhere in the house, is in the bathroom.  He throws litter all over the place when he’s done his toilets and I’m forever stepping out of the shower and getting Catsan between my toes.

The responsibility that goes with looking after this cat cannot be underestimated.  If anything at all happens to him, I might as run off to Iraq and join the nearest Islamic State boys wearing nothing but a rainbow flag and a smile.  He means THAT much to my dad.

In the meantime, I’m sure my family is having a lovely time in the sunshine in Italy.  So that’s all good.