I'm Obviously Complicated In A Stupid Way

I hate the barbers. I think this should be fairly obvious to you, Dear Constant Reader, as there have been several posts in the past lamenting the evils of those torture chambers disguised as coiffeurs.

Today was that evil day where I must submit my head to the attention of a man armed with a miniature buzz saw and scissors. I don't want small talk, I don't want a chat, I just want to be in and out as quickly as possible, preferably with my dignity (and ears) intact. So it as a surprise when, after 5 minutes the barber had not blabbered away incessantly about some boring topic, I found myself concerned as to what might be wrong.

Was he unhappy? Had I inadvertently pissed off this sharp-instrument wielding guy? Why wasn't he trying out his latest dull lecture (such as a famous past conversation I've entitled "How supermarket offers are going to cause the collapse of Western civilisation") on me?

After years of trying to find a barber who didn't bore me with football or chit-chat, I finally find one and all I can worry about is what must be wrong with me for him to not try and make small talk! I'm truly one messed up individual.

Well you'll be pleased to know he shortly afterwards asked me if I had the day off work and I gave him a short, curt "Yes" signifying my urge not to speak to him ever again, and all was right with the world once more.

I'm one sick puppy.

If you feel benevolent and particularly generous, this writer always appreciates things bought for him from his wishlist

10 Years On... Happy Blogaversary!

I work in a building that is completely devoid of totty. I mean, in most companies there's at the very least a guy on a different floor who you might occasionally see who keeps the totty quota up. But not in mine. Ever since Rugby Boy left (6'2", with pecs and biceps of a size to make your eyes water if you looked at them dead on) it's been a totty desert. How is a boy to get through his 9-5 without something nice to look at? Le sigh.

But I started an NVQ at work today so I suppose that'll keep me at least a little busier than normal. Anything to keep it interesting...

Our ratty house guests have left us today which is both a shame (as they were very cute) and a joy (as they were really, really smelt). Seems like Mum is about to get rid of them as my brother is not caring for them, so it was nice to have had a chance to spoil them before they go...

And in other news... today marks 10 years, which from your perspective must feel like a life sentence Dear Constant Reader, since I began this blog. I was just an 18 year old boy, little did I realise the fun and frolics that lay ahead for me...

So here is the first post, just to remind us how this all started... and here's a brief review of my blogging life including a picture of our beloved Charles Dera!

As always on these blogaversarys, say hi if you are still lurking, I know there's far fewer of you nowadays due to the fact I've been a Bad Blogger. But at least it's still limping along... Thanks for sticking with me :)

If you feel benevolent and particularly generous, this writer always appreciates things bought for him from his wishlist

The Search For Pizza

Since the demise of Pizza King there has been a pizza shaped hole in my heart. Last week we discovered Super Pizza was probably the best pizza we've had in Folkestone so far, but their delivery service was pretty awful.

*phone rings*

"You order Super Pizza?" shouts a gruff voice.

"Yes"

"We downstairs" hangs up.

I headed downstairs to find the delivery guy sitting in his car waiting for me. I had to go to his car to get the pizza!

So after they "lost" our order yesterday, Jim took an executive decision to wander down and pick up the pizzas ourselves.

Of course on the way we got distracted and ended up in the Pullman, our favourite pub in Folkestone, where we had two bottles of a delicious sweet wine in the beer garden (much to the confusion of the barman who was half ready to pour us our usual pints of Amstel). We then moved on to Wetherspoons (I refuse to call it the Samuel Peto!) where we had another bottle of wine and caught a glimpse of a bit of flesh (well if a guy is going to lean over a bar and have very low hanging jeans, what's a boy to do?).

We eventually stumbled to Super Pizza where they attempted to overcharge us by a few pence. Whilst I'd just pay that, as I'll do anything to avoid a fuss, Jim has a keen sense of principle and a small awkward moment occurred where he attempted to explain how we were being overcharged and it ended only when a manager intervened and corrected the error. I totally understand why Jim does what he does, but God those sort of altercations are my worst nightmare.

We've got two house guests at the moment, Lenny and Bart. They are my brother George's rats and they're actually rather cute. And there's a new Celebrity Big Brother on the telly! Doesn't get much better than that!

Jim's not been well again recently which is playing on my mind, and works all a bit of a dull SSDD. Otherwise I'm not doing so bad... how are you, Dear Constant Reader?

If you feel benevolent and particularly generous, this writer always appreciates things bought for him from his wishlist

A Customers Guide To Driving Me Insane

You know those things that people do that set your teeth on edge... Well imagine having to put up with those things throughout your working day and you'll begin to have an insight into my own personal hell. Here are just a few things that drive me up the wall.

1) Call openings

Me: "How can I help?"

Customer: "Yes I hope you can help"

This may seem innocuous, it may seem sensible but everytime a customer says that I die a little. I was asking how I could help, not whether I could help! Of course I can help, don't they know who I am??

Me: "How can I help?"

Customer: "Hi"

Me: "Hello, how can I help?"

Customer: "My name is..."

Thus the call proceeds for about two minutes before the customer tells me what I can do for them and I solve the problem in a second. Don't blame me for your phone bills if you don't wish to answer a very simple question.

Me: "How can I help?"

Customer: "Customer reference 4....."

RUDE.

For all the talk of customers complaining about not being treated like human beings most simply go into robot mode when they call a customer service team.

2) My name is not James, it's not Mr Jason, I'll accept "Sir" but that'll be begrudgingly. My name is Jason, and I'll even let you get away with calling me Jay. Is this so very difficult? When, invariably, someone calls me "Mr Jason" during my working day I have to take very deep breathes to maintain my professional calm.

3)Customer: "Can I pay please?"

Me: "Of course you can, what's the number of the card you want to use?"

Customer: "Oh I'll just go get it"

Why did you call to make a payment when your card wasn't there? I can understand if part way through a call you decide to pay but don't have your card with you. But when that's the whole point of your call... why?? It's not this is a once every so often thing. It happens 50% of the time!

4) People who ask a question then interrupt halfway through your answer with a completely different question. And repeat throughout the call. Why????

5) People who talk to their neighbours and get the completely wrong end of the stick.

Customer "My neighbour only pays a pound a month!"

Me "Trust me, I can't look at their account with you but I can guarantee they pay more than that"

Customer "Are you calling me a liar?"

Me: "No, I just think someone's got the wrong end of the stick..."

And thus it continues until they go and get their neighbour and we prove conclusively that what they said was that they pay "about a pound a day" or some such thing. AH!

And thus the horrors continue day in, day out...

If you feel benevolent and particularly generous, this writer always appreciates things bought for him from his wishlist