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Ages and ages and ages and ages ago, I posted my first blog here. And then promptly fell below radar due to some rather complicated family health issues and the sudden, unexpected passing of another close family member. I’ve been diving back and forth over the North Sea like a yoyo with a long string! And then Oh Patient One (my husband), Teenager #2 (our second offspring unit) and I moved to our new apartment in Rotterdam. In a Fiat Punto (this is a Fiat Punto). So when I say I am back here in cyberland again I am crossing my fingers, arms, legs, toes and eyes that all will be well for the rest of 2008. Whew.

Anyhoo, speaking of the move, those of you who are familiar with me from literarychicks know that I always have little disasters and red tape thwarting me whenever I am involved in arranging absolutely anything and, of course, this time was no different than before.

The Telephone Episode

I am always getting telemarketing calls from different phone companies who want to offer me a great deal if only I’ll switch to their particular super-duper, fantastically wonderful service immediately on the strength of a verbal agreement. So when it came to getting our telephone number switched from the old apartment to the new one, I thought it would be a case of our provider simply pressing some keys on a keyboard, and hey presto! How wrong could a person be, sigh? This is what actually happened.

So I call the 0900 customer service number from the old apartment (at a charge to me of TEN EURO CENTS PER MINUTE - that’s approximately 15 US cents - which is more like ‘customer rip-off services’ than ‘customer services’ if you ask me). Of course, I am connected to one of those automated menu systems where you have to practically give them your entire life history before you can speak to a real human. I manage to work my way through all the sub menus, and finally, about 20 minutes later, I get to speak to a very nice, helpful representative. I explain to him (in my terrible Dutch) what it is that I want, and Very Nice Rep tells me something astonishing in this day and age. At least, I think it’s astonishing.

Very Nice Rep: “Sorry, madam, but it will take at least two working weeks for us to change over your number.”

Me (perplexed): “But. But. But I only want my current number switched to my new apartment. It’s only about five miles away. It’s in the same area. How can that take two whole working weeks?”

Very Nice Rep (repeating himself patiently because of the obviously dense English woman): “Sorry, madam, but it will take at least two working weeks for us to change over your number.”

And then he went on to explain in fast, techinical Dutch why it would take so long, and at this point I totally lost him, so I gave up and told him thank you and hung up. Oh, well. Two working weeks it would have to be.

Oh Patient One tracked our account on the Internet every day at work. The phone company delayed our date and time for changeover twice. We would have to wait nearly THREE WEEKS. At least we’d have the Internet so that we could call people on Skype and generally keep in touch with the rest of the world during the transition. Or so I thought . . .

Back next time with the sorry tale of the Internet and the TV