The saga of the mobile phone continued. My cracked screen was, indeed, cracked all the way specific 'phone' shop on Friday, and was greeted by a usual joyful, exuberant member of staff, who led me to a seat, and told me to wait for an equally cheerful, jubilant colleague. (He did not use the adjectives!) As my phone is now virtually an antique (half the number of the new model, I believe) the screen was not in stock and they would have to order it. A very pleasant young man, but perhaps a little green, explained the procedure. If they caused damage to my phone, they would replace it to the value of the screen. Although $129 is not a drop in the ocean, I did not think a replacement of equivalent amount would extend to anything intelligible, let alone another smart device! However, I agreed, and signed the screen with my finger. It was after I had signed that he remembered to ask the other questions. "Has it fallen in water". I replied in the negative. I explained that the incident took place over two weeks ago, and other than not being able to read messages, due to the extensive cracks, it has worked perfectly. He tapped again on his screen, and then told me I should expect an email.through. I had taken the device to the
The email was rather interesting. It showed me the estimated cost of the repair, which included a new phone should they do something untoward, with a zero balance, the cost of the screen, and the cost of a brand new phone, should they find a fault that was the direct result of my carelessness, although not in those words! I was a little less than happy. After all, if I needed a new phone, I would like to decide for myself the model, and indeed make, and not have the choice made for me, at a cost that I did not approve. I called the number on the top of the receipt. "What is your I (something) number", she asked. I found the I (something) number and read it to her. "No. It begins with....". I told her again the number. "No! It begins with .....". I was starting to feel that my positive opinion of this particular company was now a thing of the past. "I can read", I told her. Eventually, she found my phone. Yes! It is old! I explained what had happened and that at no time was I ever consulted about replacing the phone should there be a problem that was the result of my clumsiness, although not in those words! She was quite amazed that the amount for a new phone should have been added to the estimated cost of the screen and gave me a code to cover the cost of the screen. I told her that I had no problem paying for the screen, but I did not want to pay for a new phone. "Ma'am, I am giving you the screen. It's our way of saying sorry. Take it!" I did! When I got the call on Saturday to say that the screen was at the shop, I told them I would come to have it fixed on Tuesday, as originally suggested by Mr. Green!
Monday morning was somewhat of a different feel. We were expecting the 'new guy' to start, and for some reason I assumed that this would be the answer to my problems. Much as I had tremendous high hopes, there was no way that he could just fall into the job and understand the dynamics as soon as he walked through the door. By lunchtime, I was confident that my expectations would be met, and by the end of the day, I knew we had a 'winner'. Despite having an extra man on board I worked well into the evening hours. Samantha had taken on the main task of training, but I was called in from time to time to 'supervise'.
I arrived at the office on Tuesday morning not in the best frame of mind. I had to go to the post office as well as the 'phone' shop, and I was still inundated with work. I realised that my job had now developed an extra task, as during the 'training' period, I would have to continue to do the job of the fourth man, and be on hand to answer questions, on demand! I had to undergo a severe attitude adjustment!
Apparently, Tuesday is the only day the 'phone' shop does not open at 9! I did wonder, when I arrived at ten minutes after the hour, why there was no one around. "We open at 10 today", said the only employee inside. It appeared that everywhere within the 'north' section of the shopping precinct opened at ten on a Tuesday, and I could not even find a coffee shop. I did not want to go back to the post office and risk losing my parking space, so my high heels and I went for a walk. I returned at twenty five minutes to the hour, and found that there were a couple more people who also did not realise the 'Tuesday' rule! We sat on a small wall outside the shop. At ten minutes to the hour a representative appeared, explaining that they open at 10 on a Tuesday (we got that) and asked us to make two lines. One for repairs, and one for anything else. I was first in line for repairs, and the other two 'first comers' were in the other line. However, it appeared that everything, with the exception of perhaps the question about what time they opened on a Tuesday, came under the description of 'repairs'. I gave my name. At exactly ten, (and I mean you could almost hear Big Ben chime,) the doors opened and I walked down the aisle to the first 'genius'. "Take a seat over there, and they will get you to fill out a form". I explained that I had filled out a form. "This one is shorter", was the response. How much shorter? What is your name? That should do it!
After a couple of minutes, jolly, exuberant, cheerful, name escapes me due to being blinded by the enormous smile and sparkling white teeth, called my name. He looked at his screen and almost sang, "And this is all paid for!" He seemed somewhat confused, checked his screen again, consulted his watch, looked back at his screen and gave a little giggle. I sat bemused. The repair would take a short forty five minutes. I didn't ask the obvious question! Instead, I left the Domain and went to the post office, where I dropped off a package, and had to pick up another. "Just ring the bell, sweetie", said my bestie at the counter. I did as I was asked, and the door opened. Confusion was written over this man's face too! "Someone has signed for it. It was delivered". We had received a note in our mail box at home, to say that the package was available for pick up at the post office, and Dana had emailed to say it should have been delivered to the office. He had not received a response, and assumed it was still at the post office. The employee showed me the signature. "Yep, that is mine", I said. He told me the address to which it was delivered and the time it was delivered. "Yep, I signed for it. Goodness only knows what else he is expecting", I said, smiling. I thanked the man for his assistance, and drove back to collect my phone.
My phone was not ready. I was asked if I could come back in ten minutes. I asked if I could wait in the shop. I could. I do not wear a watch when I go to work, as I find it bashes against the desk when I type. Therefore, my only method of checking the time is on my phone. As my phone (ancient as it is) was in the hands of a genius, I had no way of telling the time. I could not tell the time from anyone's watch, unless I taped the screen, and I thought that this might border on infringement of privacy! I did not need to be escorted out of the shop for 'indecent' behaviour! It appeared my behaviour was 'indecent' enough, admitting to owning such an antiquated phone! I sat and waited. As requested, when I thought ten minutes had elapsed, I went to the front of the shop to 'check in'. As the display in the shop resembled that of a cockpit, it seemed a reasonable phrase to use. My details were not found. Perhaps they should look in their archives? Old phone, etc. No. I was nowhere to be found. Perhaps I was in a virtual reality experience? It appears that because I 'checked in' originally, on line, last week, this appointment was indeed, archived, and "Hey look, there you are!" I could not see where I was despite squinting to see the small device attached to her wrist. However, I was there. "Your phone should be out momentarily. Go stand by the phone case stand". The phone case stand looked more like the luggage department at Harrods! Large cases, small cases, leather cases, monogrammed cases, anything and everything! Remember when the phone receiver was attached to a spiral cord to a box with a dialer, and that box was attached to a box in the wall? Of course they don't! They are genii, not historians! Eventually, bright toothed, employee bounced out from behind the walls. My phone was as good as new! The screen had been replaced, and despite it having been dropped in the restroom there was no sign of water damage! I told them I dropped it on the floor and not in the sink, or worse! The cost was nothing!
I returned to the office having had a relapse of attitude! This did not stop me from going swimming! However, I paid for my deviation by working late again!
Joe, apparently, was in Michigan on Wednesday, and so I went into the office early, before going to get my nails painted. Upon my return I received a call from a lady who had received a certified mail letter and wanted to know why someone other than her had been allowed to sign for it. I was unsure as to why she had called me. "Is the letter from us?" I asked, thinking it may be court documents. "No, ma'am. It is from the school. But I ain't talking to them about it. I don't trust them!" This was my week for dealing with the impossible! I remained polite, and suggested she call the post office, as they may be able to shed light on the matter, and tell her whom had signed for the package. "I can't get through to the post office. It ain't that easy. They don't answer the phone". I did! Oh how I should be working for the post office! "Why are you calling me?" I asked, still remaining polite. "I thought you would know who can and can't sign" Why yes! Perhaps I should be a genius! Unable to fathom why she would call me to find out why someone had signed for a letter that was not addressed to them, and that was not from our office, I decided that I should terminate the call. This was not an option without hanging up on her. I tried to explain that sometimes the sender does not require 'restricted' delivery, which means anyone at the address can sign for it. She found that to be totally unethical (although did not use the word) and told me that if the school wanted to send her something they needed to make sure she signed for it. Again, was I in a virtual reality zone? We finally agreed that this was a completely unacceptable way to have a letter delivered and that the sender needed to specify, in future, that the recipient be the one to sign, and it should be sent restricted delivery, and that as she didn't sign for it, they could not prove she had seen it. She thanked me for my help and I thanked her for letting me go!
I swam on Wednesday evening before preparing dinner. I had to wash away the day somehow! At least our new member of staff was finding the work interesting and tolerable!
The dog was dumped on the doorstep on Thursday, as Samantha ran back out and sent me a message from her phone. "I think there is a deer with a broken leg". My immediate thought was, "How in the heck is she going to get that in her car and take it to the refuge?" She send another message shortly after to say that one of my neighbours had also seen him, and had called the authorities. Unfortunately, the deer did not survive whatever injury it was that he befell, as when we left to go to work, he was laying along the ledge. "He is just sleeping", I told my daughter. "I'm not five!" she replied. I did not mean to be unsympathetic when I spontaneously said "You can't save them all", but I do not think the comment was appreciated. Nor was the next comment, again spontaneously, of "Oh dear!". I shall have to watch my tongue!
My week could not be complete without someone else deviating from reality! I did not intend to police the car park, but I was at the wrong place and the right time! A rather tall lady parked her car and proceeded to walk over to the other building. "Excuse me", I started, and told her that she was in a restricted area. "No. I don't think so! It is a 'free for all', here. We can park anywhere". The "NO!" came out rather abruptly, and I toned down my voice to a more acceptable level. "It is not. There is a sign there showing that only people in this building may park here". Indignation set in. She was a good deal taller than me, and was using this as leverage. "I don't think so!" she replied. "I do!" I said, with a slight tone of authority. "Go and look at the sign. Come on", I said, not meaning to sound like an adult talking to a child, but it just came out that way! "Even if I work in that building over there?" she asked, in a somewhat more demure way. "Yes, and you can park by that building over there!" I responded. She huffed, and got back in her car. Perhaps she has used her stature to her advantage before, but little did she know that I am used to debating with one who is over a foot taller than me!
Despite there being a long weekend ahead, work did not slow down. Dana chose not to inform his clients that we were closing early for the holiday weekend, as they appear not to believe him. If they are at work, they assume he must be too! We received six expedite papers at 4:40pm on Friday afternoon. Even if we were not going to take advantage of the holiday, many of our colleagues will be 'out of town'. For those that were to the north east of us, the weekend had already started, and they may not be accessible until Tuesday morning! Dana replied that if they (the sender) wanted to try and get someone else to take care of these papers, he would not be offended. The response was, "You can wait until Tuesday. I'm outta here!" So be it!
With the prospect of rain on Monday and my husband spending time in the office because he finds it a good opportunity to 'catch up', my 'bank holiday' weekend may, or may not be exciting. With the prospect of our new guy being able to stand on his own 'two feet' so to speak, gives me hope for a bit of respite in the future. With four days of official work, next week, I can only hope that the challenges are less fretful, and any genii that I have to encounter will be those of an academic standing! Technology is all well and good, but common sense is my preferable tool. Does common sense still exist. I suppose I could make that (or not) the basis of ........... another story!
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