I set out today to blog a completely different post. But unfortunately, a ridiculous series of events – a butterfly effect if you will – disrupted matters enough for me to change my subject matter and, in turn, the course of your reading material today. So you’re getting a gonzo report of me immersing myself in the shiter side of housewifery instead. Hoping that’s ok. If not, read no further.
The fact is, I’m almost too annoyed to blog about it, but I know writing here helps. And my inner voice is actually audibly laughing at how much I have got my knickers into such a twist.
What could possibly be the matter I hear you ponder? Well I have to admit (and you’ll just have to accept) that my irritations today are firmly first world based I’m afraid. And I am contemplating screaming, throwing some eggs against a tree trunk or maybe even crushing a tomato with my bare hands or similar ball park of totally ineffective violence. Just to get my aggression out.
It all started with the needlessly agonising process of trying to cancel our home milk delivery for a couple of weeks. The dairy’s online holiday tracker app is not working my husband announced at about midnight after a cursory bash at logging in, could you sort this tomorrow? Yes, ok, I will add it to my list I say not at all passive aggressively. I mean you’ll be at work after all.
My husband somehow finds the time to call me to remind me about calling the dairy as I drop the car off at the garage for a wellness check as it’s humming and juddering. Not ideal with an eight hour drive looming.
On the bus home from the garage I try to log on to the dairy app. I don’t know the account number, so I text my husband to ask for it. He replies two hours later with the number. Then I go to log on and find I need a password, which I also don’t know so try to reset it. The app sends a text an email to my husband with a link, but I can’t be bothered to wait another two hours to get all that back from him so I try and find a telephone number for the dairy, which is literally no where to be found on the app. Not even a contact us page. Eventually I find a number for a local milk depot who cough up the number after a couple of minutes. Result.
Meanwhile the garage have left me a voicemail to call them back to discuss what is needed to be done to the car. I try calling but no one answers.
I call the dairy number. No one answers.
I call the two numbers for about an hour with no joy.
Then, miraculously, I get through to the garage who reel off a list of things totalling about £800 that need dealt with on the car. Hearing the keywords brakes and coolant system and tyres, I say do the brakes and the coolant system but but I need head office approval for new tyres (as instructed by husband aka head office).
Incidentally, is it just us or do they want to change tyres every time the car hits the garage these days as it’s always allegedly on the illegal tread?! Then begins the back and forward for weeks afterwards when they snap the tyre pressure warning sensors or balls up the silicone sealant…Pah! Shoddy.
Anyway, I’m told waiting for my husband’s consent to tyres may mean that I might not get the car back today. Rock and a hard place but I’m under strict instruction to discuss with him indoors before agreeing to new tyres despite the ever decreasing time to go to cheap and cheerful tyres inc instead of the dealership for them.
Leave voicemail with husband to call me back urgently and continue trying dairy. Nothing, nothing, nothing, then someone answers snd hangs up, then nothing again.
An hour passes and husband phones me back. After a few expletives he recognises that we don’t have much choice about the tyres if they are really that badly worn. Call garage, nothing, again, nothing, again… what is wrong with these people?!?!
Call dairy. Get through!!! Sort holiday dates. Politely worm out of adding yoghurts, eggs and orange juice to my order. I must sound so delighted to be speaking to him as the guy asks me to write a trust pilot review for their great customer service. I say I will. But of course I won’t. HOW ABOUT GETTING YOUR APP FIXED OR PICKING UP THE FRIGGING PHONE YOU FOOLS!!!!
Go through another unsuccessful dozen calls to the garage before receptionist picks up and I have to entrust her to pass on the message to just proceed with all car work, including the tyres.
It remains to be seen whether the message will have been passed on and whether my car will be ready to collect later, involving a return to town on the once an hour bus service with the kids in tow. The thought alone of the message sitting at an empty desk as the phone rings off the hook beside it occupies my thoughts to the point of distraction.
Ok so people are dying and suffering and I’m moaning about milk deliveries and SUV repairs from my lovely house in the glorious Scottish countryside, but please forgive me and allow me permission to feel the immense irritation of a day spent incommunicado at the mercy of others to pick up their god damn phones when all the while I will never get that time back.
Oh and did I mention the relentless, I’m bored but I want to do something mummy guessing game I am also playing along with in the background……aaaaaargh.
Oh, PMS 😂😂