Aged Rage

My new job seems to be working out okay so far. Not that working in accounts is my dream career or anything, but it seems like a pretty cruisey place to work. Apart from the fact that it was like entering some sort of technology time warp. I mean, don't get me wrong – the good old days of CRT monitors, Office 97, dot matrix printers and DOS-based command prompt software were damn fine days indeed, but in this day and age I must admit I've gotten used to the finer things in life, like, oh I dunno, being able to email someone an invoice instead of faxing it. But the atmosphere there is a pretty good one, and that's the main thing. It seems like everyone who works there has been there for about twenty years, which is a good sign I guess. Either that or the place is like the employment equivalent of the Hotel California. Apparently on your 25th anniversary, employees are presented with a silver tray. On your 30th anniversary, you get a matching decanter. When I asked what you were supposed to do with the tray for five years while you waited for the decanter, they just laughed. Whether they were laughing at me, with me or near me, I'm still not sure.

This week, all the subscriber invoices went out with an error on them. Instead of the due amount being in the 'current – please pay in 30 days' box, the amount owing was printed in the 'overdue – please pay immediately' area. So all week I've been answering the phone to every damn Betty Jones in Launceston, demanding to know why their invoice says they are overdue when they know full well they aren't. Sigh. Needless to say, it's been a long week – one endless conversation with an irate elderly person. Elderly people aren't the only ones who subscribe, of course, but they certainly seem to be the only ones who complain. It wouldn't be so bad if they'd just tell me the problem, listen to my explanation and heartfelt apology, accept it, and hang up. But nooooo… First, they have to announce their age, the aeons they've been subscribing for, and make sure you're very clear on the fact that they have always paid on time. Then they have to tell you the whole long-winded story of how they came to discover the error on their invoice:

"Well! I woke up this morning, and after my cup of tea, I heard the mailman. And I thought to myself, 'There's the mailman. I might go and check the mail'. So, I went and checked the mail. I walked back inside with my letters, and I sat down to look at them, and I noticed there was a bill from you! So I opened it, and I had a look. And well! Imagine my shock when I saw that the bill said I was overdue! I have always paid on time, you know. I've never been overdue, and I've been subscribing for fifty years. I'm eighty six years old, you know!"

"Yes, I know Mrs Jones, I'm really very sorry. Our accounts were printed with an error on them. The amount that you owe is not overdue, it's in the wrong section. It should be in the 'current' section. You have until the end of the month to pay. I'm very sorry for the inconvenience. Please accept our apologies."

"Well! Yes! Because I'm not overdue, you know. I knew that was a mistake as soon as I saw it. I couldn't believe it! I mean, after I woke up and had my cup of tea, and heard the mailman, and went to the mail box, and came back inside, and opened the mail, and saw the bill from you, I was most unhappy! I've never been overdue. I have always paid on time, and I've been a subscriber for fifty years. I'm eighty six!"

"I'm really sorry, Mrs Jones. Hopefully the problem will be fixed by next month, so it shouldn't happen again."

"Well, I certainly hope not! I'm eighty six years old, you know! I've been subscribing for fifty years, and I've never been overdue!"

And so on. I finally get Betty off the phone, breathing a sigh of relief as I hang up the receiver. The phone rings again. This time, it's Wilfred Smith. He's ninety three years old. His mailman came before he'd had his morning cup of tea. He's got a good mind to cancel his subscription. He doesn't need this stress. He's ninety three years old. Next time I ring up to complain somewhere, I'm going to announce my age a few hundred thousand times and see if it makes a difference. Unfortunately, "I'm twenty eight! Give me a discount!" doesn't really have the same ring to it.