Dongle Disaster

“What?” I respond to the indistinct mumbling over my mobile. “St. Johns”. “No, I’m at Portman Square. You have the wrong address.” 3 days later, I realise while he might have had the wrong address, I still don’t have the dongle. Frustrated I call O2 back, explaining the situation and am told that the previous order will have to be cancelled and a new one placed. Given it took 32 minutes the last time, albeit with a lovely bloke with a lilting accent who was rather a pleasant chat, I’m not enamoured by the suggestion. I’m handed over to sales, who expectantly waits for directions. Did she not explain the situation to you?? Apparently she did, but he’d just like me to confirm it. Naturally. We run the gamut of irrelevant questions and try and curb my testiness when I’m asked if my flat is furnished. What the fuck? Since when has a sofa been a prerequisite to internet access? Furthermore, I don’t recall this level of inanity last Friday with the happy chappie. Eventually, we exhaust the inane questions and get down to brass tacks. My credit check is taking longer than expected, so he asks if it’s ok to call me back in 10 minutes. Given how many of those I’ve already wasted, I’m more than agreeable to his suggestion. Patiently, I doodle, update the blog, chat with colleagues, give pause to my bladder, check the news, add a buffer to the 10 min, checking that I am indeed logged onto the phone system. 25 minutes, before I curse and get on with my life. A trip down Oxford St. to pick up marzipan for Bewdi who’s never tried it, and vent my frustrations at the nearest O2 store. The only address that comes up is the old Healey & Baker on George Street, and a fatal flaw has occurred ensuring none of my cards are acknowledged. I give up defeated and leave the store, none the better connected. Stoically, I contemplate life at home without internet access. Between C&W and Westminster public libraries, my daytime is pandered to. But what does one do post business hours if the urge strikes? I waver. I break. I call. I expel. I realise he’s already said ok. The doctor to the rescue. Shit. I have to send him the link!