I have never owned a set-top box, a freeview box, a digital signal thing, or whatever other gadgets are or were required to watch television in the past ten years. I buy or borrow DVDs to watch, and sometimes download things. The upside is that I save (or rather, do not spend) about £150 a year as I am not required to pay for a licence. The downside is that I miss out on things which all of social media is clearly watching. The most alienated I have felt, in this regard, was last week – when everyone else on the planet watched Germany destroy Brazil seven goals to one.
Similarly, I miss the source of the weekly outpouring of irritation, disbelief, and consternation which Twitter users hash-tag #BBCQT. The BBC’s Question Time seems to incite a lot of indignation, and so in that sense I feel I do not exactly “miss out” on the political discussion show – more that I “do not see” it.
Of course, there are occasional characters who crop up on the panel or in the audience. The eccentric, the ignorant, the misguided, and the plain wrong, all filter through to some degree, thanks in part to their dissemination via YouTube, Vine, and latterly Facebook and Twitter. This week’s unlikely hero, or anti-hero, has been Nigel the pro-union Passionate Highlander. Speaking passionately, thus justifying his own description of himself, he vowed – in the name of Jesus – that we will never change. Change being one of life’s inevitabilities, we will. Even if the No campaign win the referendum (God forbid, since we are now invoking deities), there are aspects to this new political movement which cannot be easily undone. Once you have collectively imagined a better future, it cannot be un-imagined.
That aside, Nigel’s proclamation, “In the name of Jesus,” is phrased identically to a sample used by the band Front 242 in 1988. Their track “Welcome To Paradise” – from the album Front By Front – took various snippets of speech from American Televangelists and incorporated them to great effect. It was relatively easy, as someone for whom that anthem was a gateway into the band’s extensive catalogue, to segue from one to the other. With the slightest of technical know-how, I hastily merged the Question Time footage with the song. With captions quickly typed and assembled, the end result is not the hardest-hitting argument you will hear in favour of Scottish independence. It is, however, light-hearted and true to my strong belief that we will all – Scots and English – benefit from an overwhelming Yes vote.
Here, then, is Nigel the Passionate Highlander accompanied by the Belgian pioneers of Electronic Body Music:
While I was passing my branch, I stopped in to see if they could help me – since my online requests were going in circles. I just wanted the “Esq” they had added after my name removed. Having ignored it for years, the final straw was when they addressed me with the suffix “Esq Esq”. There was the original complaint, part two, part three, and now – read on:
Hi [staff member’s forename],
Apologies for the delay in replying to your recent email. It has been a busy old time for me, and I plan to tie up some of your time by writing about it. For a start, I had to get a pair of glasses. I am not saying the Bank Of Scotland caused me sight problems, by forcing me to write so many letters on the laptop in a bid to resolve this once-trifling issue, but it is wonderful to finally be able to read what I am writing. Indeed, having read over my past letters prior to composing this one, it is heartening to note that I typed them all the right way up. I would hate to discover that the slight imperfection in my vision was the source of hitherto-unrealised embarrassment.
I hope you had a pleasant Easter. Personally, as a freelancer, I find it to be a huge inconvenience. There is a weekend in April – pick a weekend, any weekend; it varies annually – when suddenly everything useful is shut and everywhere else is uncommonly busy. Unless Jesus died on a different day every year, the whole holiday is a bit of a sham. Still, Easter Sunday was a good day for the Trussell Trust and the foodbanks it runs. On the back of an ill-considered article in the Mail On Sunday, their donations soared. I donated. I also rewrote the article to contain the truth, and it has now been read over 5000 times. Just think, five thousand people took the time to read something I wrote. If I had had a couple of fish and some loaves I could have attempted to feed them, which relates both to the messiah whose death we celebrated and to the nature of that Nazi rag’s disgust. How dare we feed the poor?
The following events took place on Tuesday 15th April, a day before you replied.
It was a great day for customer service, beginning with a visit from my postman. I missed a delivery on the Monday, and my parcel had been deposited at my local depot for collection. That depot is a four-mile round trip, and I usually make it on foot. My postman cannot possibly know that. Nevertheless, he did me a turn, and brought the parcel with him the next day in case I was home. I was. What a nice man, to save me that hassle. A rare display of exceptional customer relations. In addition, and again unknown to him, the parcel contained a trio of alarms – two smoke, one carbon monoxide. I ordered these after my good friend and next-door neighbour was nearly gassed, prompting me to finally get round to investing in this basic life-saving technology. So, to reiterate, the Royal Mail employee really did do me a favour, on a couple of counts.
My second encounter came with a visit to the local branch of a government office. How helpful the woman was! Although ostensibly there to enforce rules, we struck an easy rapport and discussed everything – from the failing policies of this unelected Tory government, to the Orwellian use of language in the way they now use nice names for things which are essentially draconian. We discussed the merits of Scottish Independence – I am strongly for it, to the point that I will be distraught if we do not obtain it, while she is undecided. To my mind, every “Maybe” is a Yes in need of just a handful more facts or just a little more easily-discredited Better Together bullshit. This country can be great, and I am voting not for a politician or a party, but for my country and the people in it. It is beyond evident that Westminster rule does not work for us.
I wondered if it would be possible to achieve the customer service hat-trick, and you were supposed to be the third encounter. Unfortunately, my email had not received a response. I refused to let that deter me, I knew Bank Of Scotland could do it if it tried. When I enquired of your Twitter colleagues how long I should wait, their reply – and yours – was swift. Too little too late, I am afraid.
Since I was out and about on a rare day off, I popped into [my local] branch to see if they could help me in ways you have not. It was unbelievable.
I was scarcely over the threshhold before Jane – I believe that is her name*, I went back later to ask, with a view to including it here – materialised, appearing in front of me like an angel. Could she help me, she asked. I truncated the full length of our correspondence, [forename of addressee], to the simple issue that started it all – I would like my name changed in your system.
Being thorough, Jane asked if I had proof of the name I wanted on my account. In a fortuitous turn of events, I had my passport with me, and duly informed her of the fact. I was led quickly into a small office, to elaborate on my request. Admittedly, although I do not recall doing so I think there is a very good chance that I handed Jane my card. This enabled her to find my account in ways you have not had the means to. I still question how you claim to be unable to locate my account, given the relative uniqueness of my name, but I will skip this for now – in the same manner that you have avoided answering that and other questions up to this juncture.
Within approximately two minutes, and I suspect it may have been less, Jane had removed the offending “Esq” from my account name. As if that was not enough, she then checked a quick detail with me, asking “does your phone number still end [last three digits]?”
Now, [forename of addressee], I cannot tell you how gobsmacked I was. You told me my number was not up to date, and did not respond to my questions about that. Here, it turns out, your company has had my correct number all along! Your searching capabilities are underwhelming, Jane found that detail so effortlessly that it left me incredulous. In trying to fathom this unexpected change in events, I blurted out “are you kidding on??”
Jane, equally nonplussed by my failure to comprehend how simple this task had been for her, laughed with me as she assured me the matter was fully taken care of.
[Forename of addressee], when I began formulating this letter in my head, I planned to say – perhaps partly in jest – that you have let your company down. I now feel that they have let you down. Why have they not adequately trained you? What does Jane, possibly in accordance with other customer-facing staff, know that you do not? Why are the Bank Of scotland keeping you in the dark?
This entire debacle has highlighted a complete lack of inter-departmental communication within your organisation. For instance, with regard to my phone number, you claimed it was both indicative of a “different geographical location” and “out of date” and repeatedly requested it. Do you know what I realised? I provided it, via private Direct Message on Twitter, before you ever read my initial complaint. It should have been passed to you, and was not. However, in that same regard, you later claimed to be unable to find the very number which was immediately retrievable when I went into the branch.
Were you trying to fob me off? You told me that you could not locate my account, then instantly said the number you held was suspect. How did you find a number for me while simultaneously being unable to find my account? That is no small discrepancy, and I like to have things in writing in case of such contradictions.
I have been wholly unimpressed with your responses thus far. You contradicted yourself, failed to defend that when challenged, did not satisfactorily answer any of my resulting questions, and sent very staid replies despite my attempts to inject humour into what has been a very tedious episode.
Can you confirm that, when Michael Schumacher injured himself earlier this year, they induced his coma by giving him some Bank Of Scotland emails to read? Frankly, I put far more effort than was strictly necessary into this communication, and have been left thoroughly bored as a result.
I would take this further, if I thought there was any point. Congratulations, incompetence and drudgery wins to live another day. You fought the battle well, successfully defeating the customer by blindly ignoring his questions asked on the back of your own inconsistent statements. Well done. They will probably promote you.
Jordan R.A. Mills Esq Esq Esq Esq Esq Esq
PS: I have published my first three letters to you online. They have totalled 118 views. If you want to get anywhere near the 5000 views I reached at the weekend, you need to be far more interesting or drastically increase your contentiousness. Your previous replies are so dull there is little merit in reproducing them. They would fail to set the world alight even if soaked in petrol and used as tinder.
PPS: If you can find an up-to-date, geographically accurate number for [my local] branch, you should call it. Maybe Jane will share some of her warmth and wisdom, and reveal to you how she was able to find my own phone number just by – shock, horror – looking at the same records you have access to.
*Jane is definitely not her name, I have changed it for publication.
In addition, I received a letter in the mail the day after I sent this, in which the complaint handler announced a stalemate and said he was closing the complaint.
I changed my phone recently, a saga that will merit one or possibly two blogs of its own. My new data allowance is a meagre 750mb/month, and I managed to use it all within four days. As this is my sole means of getting online, it is not exactly ideal.
During this transitionary period, my access was slowed to an unpleasant crawl and I was forced to rely on the germ breeding-grounds of library computers (with their one-hour usage limits, and surrounded by unwashed heavy-breathers.) It had an effect on the time I was able to put into job-hunting online, and I resorted to other methods in order to fulfil the mandatory minimum of twenty hours’ searching per week. Last week, for example, I printed CVs and handed them into various suitable establishments.
On Monday night, in the small hours, my phone decided that it would ease up on the throttling, allowing me an unfettered 3G signal. This happens periodically, with no rhyme or reason, and it is extremely volatile. I seized the opportunity, jumping onto the app of one renowned job site, and applying for the first appropriate vacancy. As seems increasingly standard, I was required to create an account on the employer’s page, going through a number of different forms and saving them all as I went. The norm is that, upon completion of several different sections, you can only then submit your application. I duly began typing, using a smartphone that I hate using and which has difficulty responding to touch.
Three hours later, and I dearly wish that that was an exaggeration, I had finished describing why I want to work for them, with plenty of reasons why I am an exemplary staff member in every conceivable way. All I had to do was upload my CV, and this is where it all fell apart. My limited data policy would not let me transfer a file, regardless of size. I was due to sign on the next day, and as the jobcentre recently revealed that they have computers for “customer” use (I reject that word with reference to the context in which they use it), I decided I would take my CV along on a USB stick. It would be a simple matter to add it to my saved application, and theory is a wonderful thing.
Above: Image taken from lawblogone
My signer combed my job diary, checking that I had listed all of the jobs that I look at, whether or not I can actually apply for them. She questioned why I had noted seven hours of handing out CVs. I explained my situation, which led to a conversation that leaves me incredulous. She began by referring to a condition of claiming Jobseeker’s Allowance:
“Handing out CVs doesn’t count as Actively Seeking Work.”
Shall I repeat that? Read it again. Handing out CVs does not count as Actively Seeking Work. I asked the obvious question:
“How much more active can I be?! I spent seven hours traipsing the city centre!”
“Yes, but that is not in your jobseeker’s agreement. You’ve agreed to spend twenty hours a week looking online.”
I handed my CV in to businesses operating within industries where I have previous experience. The Jobcentre instructs me that my time would be better spent looking at advertised vacancies, regardless of how inexperienced, underqualified or under-skilled I am.
“That reminds me,” I said, “my advisor wrote into my agreement that I have internet access at home. I don’t. She asked if I had a computer at home, which I do. It’s not connected to anything though.”
This was corrected, and I signed the amended form. I asked if I could use their computers to upload my CV, complete this particular application, and submit it. Having spent three hours on it at home, ten minutes would be enough to send it off – once I also double-checked that auto-correct had not embarrassed me.
“I can book you in, certainly. The first available slot is on Friday morning.”
Friday morning? That was a full three days away, and I could have taken my sweet time over the form rather than rush to complete it. I had gone to bed at 4am, prior to my 10am appointment. This signer, incidentally, had previously “helped” (read “hindered”) me when I needed a Tax Rebate form stamped. On that occasion, one of the security guards had approached me when she left to photocopy something, looking at me sympathetically and confiding “she’s murder, mate.”
I decided that I would go to the library, taking my chances that I might get online sooner than seventy-two hours. Sitting down at a computer, having been struck by just how very empty the place was, a staff member apologetically informed me that all of Glasgow Libraries’ computers were being upgraded and thus unavailable “today and tomorrow.” Thursday would be the earliest I could get online. By Wednesday afternoon I had had enough of this ridiculous situation, and called the Jobcentre to speak to my advisor. I needed, and her title suggested she should provide, advice.
It was her day off. I spoke to an alternate member of staff, who listened to me.
“I have an agreement that says I need to search for twenty hours a week, online. The library is open six days a week, and the maximum computer time per person per day is two hours. I can go in every day and still be eight hours short. I can use your computers, but only once this week. Other forms of job search are discounted. All I want to do, at this point, is submit an application for a job that I have seen advertised, and want, and have already filled in the form for. They are not going to wait for me. What am I supposed to do?”
I can go in at 9am tomorrow and he will sort it out for me, making him the single most helpful member of staff I have yet encountered within that (dis)organisation. As it happens, I have newly taken out a contract for mobile internet, from a provider whose cheapest deal means that I have a new SIM card in my old phone, connected to my laptop and used as a modem. Being essentially a second phone contract, I realise that I should have shopped around instead of taking the primary one I agreed to two months ago. This new phone has enough inclusive texts and minutes to cover everything I would comfortably use within a month. So now I have two phones: one that I hate and struggle to use, both because it is unwieldy and because of the poor data allowance; and one that sits untouched on my table, connecting me to the outside world and to all the jobs advertised there. I am paying twice what I need to, two-thirds of it to a company whose services I do not require.
I cannot afford to be connected to the internet but, more importantly, I cannot afford to not be connected.
Today, I told my friend about this CV-handing-out anomaly – how looking for work no longer counts as looking for work.
“I was in that Jobcentre last week,” she told me. “They said that instead of just looking for jobs online, I should go round places handing my CV in.”
You know what? If they spent half as much time and resources on creating jobs as they do on clamping down on those desperate to find work, perhaps we would be in a better state. As it stands, the United Nations is now investigating the policies of this Tory Government. It is time for change. I am voting for independence.