Flatcap’s cough and the cold-calling c … yes, well never mind

It’s been a funny old sorta day at Festung Flatcap.

The old bellows were playing up last night and I couldn’t stop coughing. Now there’s a rule in our house. When Her Indoors coughs, she can’t help it, but when I cough, it’s done on purpose to stop her sleeping.

The upshot of all this was I spent half the night sat in front of the computer ranting at the internet, the real world, the telly, the dog, and the kid next door practising scales on his harmonica.

I eventually went back to bed at four, and woke her up (deliberately if Her Indoors is to be believed) and we spent the next 90 minutes arguing about who would get up to feed the dog at seven. It goes without saying that I lost.

There’s an interesting idiom. If it goes without saying, why am I saying it? It’s in the same category as “at the end of the day.” What’s so special about the end of the day? Why not say, “at twenty five past seven, does it really matter?”

I eventually nodded off to sleep at about 5:30 and got up some time around 10-ish. We had a wander round Tesco for our usual, weekly argument, and at half past one I got the first phone call from an unknown number. A little research on the www revealed it to be the number of a cold calling organisation based in my old hometown of Leeds. They were trying to sell me gas and electricity.

I have deep seated objections to anyone trying to sell me anything. I don’t mind them giving me something, but me and my money are hard to part, even if you do come from the same geographical area that spawned me. Aside from anything else, I already have all the gas and electricity I need, and my current supplier owes me £112 and coppers. Would I kiss them goodbye while they are in my debt? Do fish tap dance on the sideboard?

Eight calls and four hours later, I finally got through to them and found myself in an argument with a snotty kid who didn’t wanna listen to me and eventually cut me off. Poor, demented idiot, did she not realise who she was dealing with? Flatcap is a professional whinger. He does not go away.

I rang them again and got into a more reasoned debate with another salesperson and this time I demanded that he not only listen to me, but remove my number from his database.  He assured me he would.

Ten minutes later, they called again.

I never been a salesman, but I understand many of the principles, because I’ve always been a control freak. One of the principles of both arts is listening as well as talking. You can control he who may permit you to control and you can persuade he who may want to buy, but you can never control he who will not be controlled, and you cannot sell to he who does not want to buy.

Ten minutes is not a long time and it may be that they really have removed my number. They haven’t called me since half past five. So to be fair to them, to give them a chance, I shan’t plaster their number all over the internet yet.

But if they ring again … watch this space.


About Flatcap

Flatcap is in residence, tucked away in his corner of the public bar, where for the price of a brace of brown ales, he will treat you to his world-weary opinions on any and every subject you can think of and a good many you can't.
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