A curse on the head of Telecom.
In moving house, I’ve had to rely on Telecom being able to manage the complicated procedure of sending me a new, working, modem so broadband wireless can operate at home.
The modem arrived on time. So far, so good.
But it did not work. When I plugged it in, the little green shiny lights did not come on.
Cue conversation with Telecom, the day I moved in, after 14 hours of lifting possessions up several flights of stairs and a typical house-cut-into-the-side-of-a-hill Wellington abode walk up.
It is fair to say I was not at my most reasonable. It is also fair to say that taking 17 minutes to process sending me a new modem to the same address seems a little excessive.
Until, that is, you factor in the Telecom advisor’s insistance on finding me a “case reference number” because apparently my name and phone number were not enough to locate me in their filing system.
Or her overbearing “have you turned the modem on, Ms Luddite? At the wall? Have you tried more than one socket?” type comments.
Or maybe just the extra five minutes it took her to work out whether or not I should be charged for having no internet access for the seven days it would take them to send out a new modem.
And before you wonder, as did both my parents, out loud, while I complained bitterly at this service, she was a call centre person with a strong New Ziland accent. We have only our own incompetence and overwrought bureaucracy to blame, though I suspect Monty Python has been used as a training resource for Telecom operators.
At last, I’m back online. Blog postings will soon resume as normal.
Computer says no?