I’ve been trying to think of someone, anyone really, who I’ve come across in the past six months who has any idea what the fuck they are doing.
I discovered this morning that the Bosch dishwasher which is leaking all over the expensive blackbutt timber floor is still covered under warranty. That’s good, I thought. But whoa there, hang on... I paid the store I bought it from - David Jones, Chatswood, if you happen to be in the area take my advice, drive right on by, do not even slow down.
It seems that though I paid extra for an extra three years, the DJ’s people have not registered the extended warranty with the insurance people, so now I have to start faxing stuff, my fingerprints and DNA profile and all manner of ‘proof’, before I can even dream about getting my dishes all sparkly again. Really you’d have thought that was illegal. I mean it’s like taking money without delivering the goods. It seems the insurance people get this about three times a week.
Mind you, they are insurance people so how true that is, I just don’t know. I mean to my mind they’re lumped in with estate agents, car mechanics, call centre operators, the people at Telstra, bankers, peodophiles, pickpockets, genocidal murderers and, oh sorry, I got a bit carried away there.
Meanwhile, I had phoned the local Bosch person, as you may recall, to fix it because I’d forgotten about the extended warranty. I call him every week (this is week three) and he’s still not been out to even have a look, despite living only 6km away (about four miles).
So, hopefully once the warranty is all confirmed the people at Bosch will send someone out, anyone except for Week Three, I hope.
We shall see.
Anyway, I’m thinking of getting a sort of league board made up and put somewhere, maybe in the kitchen, with a list of Tossers of the Week. The only thing that worries me is I don’t have more than a couple of hours spare time a week and frankly the way things are going updating the board could be a fulltime job.
Hmm, maybe I could interest a keen school leaver who’d like to learn about commerce, umm, or not.
The only thing is with that, I’ve seen the kids around here and while they could get an A grade in Slouching Along, and certainly a Distinction in Hanging Your Shirt Out Over Your Arse, and clearly a Diploma in Monosyllabic Utterances and Grunts, I’m not sure any of them are ready for a demanding business role of this type.
Finally, I saw an advert yesterday (this has nothing to do with what I’ve been talking about but my mind wandered and I think you all deserve to know which way it veered) for a Director of Training for Greenpeace. The people they want trained are called Direct Dialogue Associates. What? Well, I figured out it’s the people who come up to you on the street and go, “And how are you today?”
Honestly, these days everyone has a fancy title. I think mine should be, Director of Special Familial Affairs with Executive Power Of Censure Over Related Infants. My side portfolio would be, Chef du Jour, Spag Bol.