Clowns to the left of me and jokers on right

Oct 3 2010 by Ian Robson, Sunday Sun

AARGH! Can you hear my frustration, can you feel my pain, after spending the week dealing with one corporate muppet after another?

My days were not, admittedly, as bad as those of academic Martyn Evans.

He was the poor chap fined £155 by the clowns at East Coast Main Line for getting off his train too early.

The jobsworths in charge said he had broken the terms of his ticket by getting off at Darlington instead of Durham.

I know what he went through after tackling one idiot after another myself in the last few days.

First up were Sky who were, it has to be said, less than helpful when my system broke.

I reported it and was told it would take about £200 to put right.

We thought about it for a bit and decided to leave Sky for another satellite supplier.

So I rang to cancel – and guess what happened next.

They said I had been an exemplary customer over the years, never missed a payment, and I could get an upgrade for free.

Thank you very much, deal done, but why couldn’t they have done that at the beginning and saved a lot of hassle.

Spoke to the wrong department, apparently, but they didn’t offer to put me through to the right one.

Then it was the turn of my household contents insurer.

I won’t say who they are but they claim to be the fourth emergency service and drive around in yellow vans.

The quote was too high so I rang around for a better deal, told them, and they offered a discount.

What are they telling customers here? I tell you what I thought they were saying.

That it was acceptable, in their minds, to pitch a quote high because enough of us will accept it without complaint.

No sooner was that done than I opened the doors to a delivery company bringing a parcel and expecting a signature.

No word of greetings from their representative, no words at all, just a rather impolite double tap on the machine recording my signature.

Finally, I’m used to having advertising fliers thrust in my face. But the girls at the top of the Metro stairs at Newcastle Central Station could have waited until I was actually off the stairs.

It was wet at the time and therefore dangerous.

But the bimbo involved insisted on standing in front of someone struggling with their footing, stopping their progress, and shoving a pamphlet in their noses.

And don’t get me started on the number of sales assistants who seem to have forgotten how to say “please”and “thank you”.

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, but I’m not laughing and I wish I wasn’t stuck in the middle with any of them.