Got a bit messed about by Boots today. One of those ‘we’ve fucked up and we admit but what are you gonna do?’ type moments. Delivered with a lovely bit of warmth by the member of staff speaking to me. At times like this I can become terribly English: “Don’t worry about it; not your fault; would it help if I hung myself?”
I’d ordered some photo-type-stuff. I’d specifically chased their ‘one hour service’. Because I wanted it quickly and with no fuss. I wanted to pick up in Ashton because I was on the way to see my mum. And I ordered it five hours before the one hour the service offered.
But it wasn’t there. “It’s not in the system, I just can’t find it!”. But I’ve got order references!! ORDER REFERENCES!! Oh, and paid for it. Ah well, not your fault.
To be fair: she took my details and rang me half an hour later to tell me that, no – there would be no pictures etc. And that I could go home and do the order again. But how would I know this one had worked? Email confirmations and ORDER REFERENCES and paying seemed like little things that didn’t mean much. Should I get a job at Boots and do the printing myself? Was this the way to make sure?
Then we went for lunch somewhere beyond the reach of my Three signal (i.e. outside a fairly small radius surrounding a city centre). When we returned to the domain of England’s least satisfying mobile provider I had a voicemail. It was the person from Boots. “We’ve got your order,” she said, “you can come and get it in half-an-hour.”
Brilliant. But I didn’t go in half-an-hour. I was allowing my son to slightly upset my dad by crying whenever he looked at him. It was more like an hour later when I ambled back into the Boots store where I’d earlier wasted about 25 minutes of my day off. Oh, we had a laugh at how the order at just appeared about six hours late.
To make up for all the messing about they’d done me an extra bit of the order. Now, the order was mainly canvas prints. Does a person want several copies of a canvas print? Well Boots decided that was how they’d make up for messing me about.
But perhaps, they thought, that a duplicate £25 canvas print that I didn’t really want was a little too much for the inconvenience thus far. Because despite me being an extra thirty minutes after the time they’d said my things would be ready, they allowed me a further 30 minutes stood waiting while they finished off the work they’d clearly underestimated.
Even a badly written competition couldn’t rile me from my jovial acceptance of being bullied by Boots. What does this mean? Because if I enter the competition by writing about how special my mum is it seems like I am the competition winner and then I get a makeover? With my son or daughter?
I have just smiled to myself about the end bit, mind. They will take a picture and turn it into a canvas – good luck!! Quite, good fucking luck getting the canvas.