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Michelle on writing and life.

The Key!

Picture this: Oh Patient One and I are at the offices of the apartment block management company to sign the lease on our new apartment. It all goes really well. The rep is very nice, explains everything to us, a copy of the signed contract will be sent to us in due course. All we have to do now is to go to the new apartment and meet another representative, who will check the apartment in our presence and give us the keys. Then, I have a thought.

“Are any of the keys security keys that we can’t get copied ourselves?” I ask Nice Rep. See, for our old apartment we got two sets of keys, and one of them was a security key. We had to purchase another one directly from the management company for Teenager #2.

“No problem, none of the keys are security keys,” she assures us with a smile.

She lied.

The main door to the apartment block does, in fact, require a security key. Of course, the representative handing us the two sets of keys can’t help us with an extra security key. Talk about confusing! He tells us we should contact his colleague back at the management company HQ.

So a few days later I call Nice Rep to see what should be done about the situation. There is another issue about the kitchen door (i.e., there isn’t one) that I need to clarify with her. I am nice, I am polite, I am friendly as I explain the situation to her. I mean, I don’t even mention the fact that she’d assured me I wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.

“Why are you calling me?” she growls down the phone, no longer Nice Rep but inexplicably Ms. Hyde Rep.

“Um, sorry. If you’re not the right person to call, can you tell me who I should speak with?” I ask, wondering what the heck I’ve done to upset her.

“Another colleague deals with keys,” she growls again. “I’ll give you a number to call about the kitchen door.”

So she does. I make a note of it. And while I’m waiting for her to transfer me to her colleague who deals with the keys, she hangs up on me.

I call back.

“Why are you calling me again?” she all but snarls down the phone at me.

“Um, I thought you were transferring me to your colleague about the key.”

“No. I gave you the number.”

“Oh, the same person who deals with doors also deals with keys?”?

“Yes!” she hangs up on me again.

I don’t believe her. Why should I?

A couple of days later I go in person to the management company HQ. I am ready to do battle. I am not leaving without a key. The receptionist is totally great. She makes a call and five minutes later (and 35 Euros later) I have a copy of the security key for Teenager #2.

I still don’t have a kitchen door, though . . .

Michelle

PS. We still don’t have a copy of the signed contract. More about which at a later date, along with more Dutch Red Tape :)

Connectivity!

So, in my last post I promised you the sad tale of the Internet and TV switchover from the old apartment to the new one. I thought it would be so easy, so straightforward, such a simple thing to arrange. Oh, but I was wrong . . .

Before we moved out of the old apartment (we had an overlap of two weeks) I dialled the 0900 TEN EURO CENTS PER MINUTE customer rip-off number, got through to the obligatory automated system, waded through all the sub menus, and finally got to speak to a representative. I explained (again, in my truly awful Dutch) what it is that I wanted, and was rather shocked at what she said to me.

Very Nice Rep: “Oh, that’s no problem. I can see from our computer system that your new apartment already has all the necessary outlets and a cable connection. It will take about two or three working days for your request to be processed, and in the meantime you will also have Internet/TV connectivity at your old place, too.”

Me (once I have recovered from the lack-of-a-problem shock and pulled myself up off the floor): “Oh. That’s fantastic! It’s so easy!” Then, just a little suspiciously. “It seems too easy. Are you sure that I don’t need to do anything else?”

Very Nice Rep (laughing): “You don’t need to do anything else. It’s all taken care of.”

This was fabulous, this was wonderful, we were planning on sleeping at the new apartment from Friday (three days later), so we’d have the Internet and the TV straight away! Yay!

Anyway, we moved the beds, TV, computers, and modem over to the new apartment so that we could finally sleep there and be connected and . . . we couldn’t find the right outlets to plug the modem and TV into. Honestly, we looked and looked, but the ones in the corner of the living room were obviously the wrong shape and size for our equipment. Oh Patient One and I search everywhere. I just knew nothing could be that easy.

So Monday morning I trundled back to the old apartment to call the expensive 0900 customer rip-off number again. After a gazillion years (felt like) I got through to a real human being and explained the problem.

Very Nice Rep #2: “Are you sure you checked everywhere? Our computer system indicates that you have the outlets and the cable. Your service has been activated. You should be connected.”

Me: “There is a white box with two outlets, but they’re the wrong shape and size for our modem and Internet.”

Very Nice Rep #2: “I don’t understand!” Me, either. But after a moment or two of silence while Very Nice Rep #2 thought it through, he added, “Did you check the closet where your electrical fuses are located? There should be a white box with a green cable coming into it.”

Me (now hitting my forehead with the base of my palm): “Um, no. We didn’t think to check in there. Okay, white box, green cable. I’ll have to check, but in the meantime can we make an appointment for installation, anyway?”

Very Nice Rep #2: “I can wait if you want to check now.”

Of course, then I had to launch into an explanation about the telephone, and how I had to come to the old apartment to use it, and couldn’t actually check the closet in the new apartment from the old apartment. He explained that I couldn’t have an apointment until I’d checked, so I hung up, trundled back to the old aparmtment, and . . . there was no white box with a green cable in the electrical closet. Of course there wasn’t!

The next day I trundled yet again back to the old apartment, did the 0900 thing, waited about for ages, etc., got to speak to Very Nice Rep #3 (who told me my Dutch was better than his English, which it clearly wasn’t, but it was nice of him to say so), and made an appointment for the electrician to pay me a visit in two days’ time between 12 noon and 6 in the evening. Finally, I would have the Internet and TV. I’d be back in the 21st century again!

Guess what. I waited in all day and the guy didn’t show.

“Why don’t you call them on your cell phone?” Oh Patient One soothed me that evening, because by now I was not a very happy bunny. Cell phone. Good idea. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

I checked the credit on my pay-as-you-go phone (the only way I can have my very own phone rather than a plan in Oh Patient One’s name–I know it should be possible to get a plan in my own name. I I tried awhile ago and just couldn’t deal with all the bloody Red Tape involved). I had about 20 Euros credit (roughly $29.50 - that should be enough, right?).

Next day I called the 0900 number, and after I listened to the warning message that although this call cost 10 Euro cents per minute on a regular phone, it would probably be more on a cell phone, and after I did the automated voice system thing, I finally got through to a rep after about twenty minutes. We did the whole history, blah, blah, and finally:

Very Nice Rep #4: “I’m sorry, madam. My previous colleague made the wrong kind of appointment for you. We tried calling you to let you know, but nobody answered.”

Gah. I forgot to give them my cell phone number. They were calling the old apartment!

Very Nice Rep #4: Let’s make you an appointment for an engineer to come around.”

Progress! The ‘right’ kind of appointment. At last.

Very Nice Rep #4: “Sorry, madam, our booking system is slow today, can you wait for a few minutes?”

Me (worrying about the diminishing credit on my cell phone, because I have no idea how much it’s being charged for this call): “Um, fine, fine.”

Several minutes passed . . .

Very Nice Rep #4: “I have an appointment for you. Would it be convenient for you on–”

And then my cell phone died. Right at that precise moment. I kid you not.

About an hour later, after having trekked back to the old apartment, teeth gnashing, steam coming out of ears, I finally got to speak to another rep and I was told that I would have to wait two weeks for the right kind of appointment. Gah!

When the electrician finally turned up two weeks later (the appointment was for between 12 noon and 7pm - he turned up at 11.30 am so it was a good job someone was home to let him in) he took one look at our connector. We did have all the necessary connections (although no green cable was in evidence). We just needed the appropriate adaptor, available for a small cash sum at all reputable computer stores . . .

We could have been online two weeks earlier! But surely nothing else could go wrong with our move. Surely we’d had our share of sheer bloody incompetence.

Guess what? We were wrong on that occasion, too.

Coming soon - The Story of the Keys

Michelle ;)

Back Again!

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

It’s been a lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time (yes it has). . .

…As the song by my favorite gods-among-men Led Zeppelin goes, but it’s great to be back in cyberspace. And just to confuse everyone (although hopefully not for long), I’ve turned into a split personality. Not in a mwahahahahaha *rubs hands together to plot world domination* kind of way, but in a writerly kind of way.

With the forthcoming launch of my first Young Adult book, Almost Fabulous, later this month, I am now Michelle Radford. As well as being Michelle Cunnah for my adult romantic comedies. Which can be very confusing!

But what have you been up to since you and the literarychicks disbanded, I hear you cry?

Well…

All in all, a good start to 2008!

Well, I have had one little kind of maybe mishap, and a train was involved…

Recently, a friend of mine from America was planning a whistle-stop visit to Amsterdam on her way back from visiting family in England, and she got in touch to say did I want to meet up. To which my reply was, of course, don’t think you can sneak into the Netherlands and not see me!

So we sorted out a date, and a couple of weeks later off I trotted to Rotterdam Central Station, got my ticket, got to the platform and…the train was delayed by nearly an hour. Of course, I didn’t have my cell phone with me because I’d forgotten it, or else I could have phoned ahead to Anna’s hotel.

Anyways, I arrived (finally) in Amsterdam, got on a tram, followed the instructions to the hotel, went into the lobby and Anna was nowhere to be seen. Oh no! She got fed up of waiting for me and went out, thought I. And then I thought, no, Anna’s probably popped up to her hotel room so I’ll just sit right here and watch out for her.

Thirty minutes later I was still sitting there…

Then I had the bright idea of checking with the reception desk.

“We do not have anyone of that name staying with us,” the very helpful receptionist told me.

“Um, well maybe the reservation is in her husband’s name?” said I, starting to panic.

“Sorry, nobody of that name is staying with us,” Very Helpful Receptionist said, after checking her computer screen. “Perhaps you have a cell phone number for your friend?”

Great idea! Fabulous idea! Very Kind Receptionist let me call her, even though Anna has an American cell phone and I warned Very Kind Receptionist that the call might cost quite a bit.

“No problem, I’m here to help,” she said, as I dialed the number.

I got Anna’s voicemail. But it sounded a bit odd, because her message said that neither she nor her husband could come to the phone right now, and why would her cell phone message include her husband? I left her a breathless message to let her know that I was in the hotel lobby, and about my trouble with the train, and how sorry I was to be late…

And then I had a thought. What if I’d gotten the date wrong?

In the corner of the hotel lobby I spotted a computer, so before you could say Michelle’s-a-bit-of-an-idiot-for-not-thinking-of-this-sooner, I logged on, opened up her last email to me and…

I was a week early. It’s true!

The following week off I trundled to Amsterdam, met Anna, had a lovely, lovely time, and all was well. :)