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Yesterday a store sold me the wrong buspass. Well, excreta occurus, so I took it back today (unusued – funnily enough I can’t use it on the buses that actually take me home) and they refused to refund it. Again, fair enough, they’re not allowed, it has to go straight back to Stagecoach. (Who, incidentally, I called, and they gave me all the details no problem. The refund won’t be questioned provided I haven’t used the pass, and, again, I can’t use it on the buses I take, so no problem.)

Except in the 20 minutes I’d been waiting in the damn store I’d had my (heavy) backpack on the floor by my feet. And so, of course, when they gave me all the info I needed, I shoved it all in my bag. On the floor. Because, y’know, there’s food goes over their counters, so I’m not putting it there.

And I got searched on suspicion of shoplifting on my way out the doors.

What. The. Fuck.

I was good. I was, in fact, extraordinatily polite. And once they told me I was free to go, I did explain, very politely, exactly how RIDICULOUS the situation was, and they agreed. To be fair, the security guards had had no clue what was going on, just saw me loitering for 20 minutes and then shoving stuff in my bag and leaving.

To add further amusement to my day, my bra underwire popped out. I am very very please I keep safety pins in my wallet, as I could rectify the problem, after a strip in the bathroom.

Apparently the world doesn’t like me starting new jobs.

Originally published at kiwi geek. You can comment here or there.

emsk: (Default)

I have worked a few hours of overtime this week. Thanks to a few outages, a new contract between companies, several factors, the email queues were several days old. Apparently, this causes Frowning Looks from the people who care about statistics. Cue my managers going “Akkkkk statistics akkkkk” and offering us money in exchange for further of our time.

I figured “Hey, why not!” and duly offered a few hours more. Thus, I worked 7am-5.30pm Thursday. I’d offered to work the same Friday, but by 4.30pm (my scheduled finishing time) the email queue was less than an hour old, with just under 50 emails in it.

I was not needed.

I did, however, have a nice little ego boost. Mid-afternoon, an email was routed to me. A customer, needing an update on his case. When I looked into it, I discovered that it was an issue that I, as a technician, thoroughly understood. Short version: Company A’s mail server has no reverse DNS records. Company B thus (quite justly) rejects their email. Customer sees this as “My email is broken when I email Company B, please fix it NOW.” Several of my coworkers, when handling this case, had grossly mishandled it through lack of technical knowledge. It wasn’t even with a server admin team when I looked at it, much to my disgust. I tried to pass this on to the agent handling. His response? “Well, if it doesn’t belong with the group it’s with now, they’ll send it back. Don’t worry!”

Of course, a new agent couldn’t possibly know anything about technical issues. Never mind that he doesn’t know dick about what I worked in before being dumped in helldesk.

However, I summarised events as positively as possible. Answered the customer’s questions as non-technically yes explicitly as possible, to try and settle his (extremely evident and entirely justified) crankiness.

His response?

Hi Emma.

Thanks for your update – it’s by far the most helpful response I’ve ever received from helpdesk. If there’s a reward for sending humanized, non-templated, useful and explanatory emails, you should get it.

I hope you have a wonderful Christmas.”

This from a man who was breathing fire three hours earlier.

I had warm fuzzies the rest of the day.

This work hullabaloo was on top of Tuesday’s little drama.

I walked into the bathroom, as usual. Do what I have to. Nothing unusual. Except that the toilet pan won’t empty. As the landlord said, when I called to request a plumber, Oh Shit.

Of course, it couldn’t be that simple. The emergency plumber that Landlord has an agreement with? Was at a party and declined to attend. (I was most unimpressed.) Cue me deciding to decamp for the evening.

“Jamie? I have a blocked toilet. Can I sleep in your spare room, please?”

“What? Oh. OK.”

Bless Jamie.

(It’s fixed now, and I’m back home, and all is well.)

Life is really pretty good.

Originally published at kiwi geek. You can comment here or there.


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November 2015

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