A lot of people I know think their brains are melting.
They aren’t. Mine is, or has, or is in the process of melting.
Right now as I key in these words I am waiting for a Telstra person to answer my abusive cries. Ok, not abusive, because I know it is not their fault, but certainly impatient.
Here’s how it started.
Some time back we moved house from the big smelly city to the delightful rural paradise. The move was fraught with danger and accident, but we made it only to find that Telstra didn’t like it.
People, or equipment, decided to make our lives miserable by refusing to let our other phones die the natural deaths that other phones do.
And they did this by charging us double the rates for our new phone and by charging us for the phones we no longer had, didn’t want, and did not use.
All right, the thing is I hear you cry, the way the modern world is, everything is designed to make life easier for us, the punter. So how hard could it be to fix?
But fixed it was, eventually, by an exceptional human being I had the luck to happen upon within the bowels of the monolith. She was hiding there, waiting for desperate folk such as myself and, get this, she even returned phone calls.
But today she couldn’t help.
Today I discovered that the 101 service on my mobile had been removed. Why? By whom? For what purpose?
I blame the Americans.
So, here I sit, waiting for someone, who comes on, tells me what’s what, then disappears, so I wait some more. And wait.
Hang on, there’s this Lisa from Victoria, what a find. She’s funny, sassy, and reckons because she’s from Victoria she can fix the unfixable.
She does. It’s fixed. I can’t believe it.
I ask her where my car keys are, my blue sock, my Swiss army knife, and could she help with the video recorder, is she married, would she like a holiday in the Whitsundays, could she work on the Middle East crisis?
No answer. Phone dead. I’m talking to thick air. Just when I thought I had met someone who could stop the melting, it starts all over again.