The Sky is the limit
Grandad April 3rd, 2009
I phoned Sky Television yesterday.
I don’t often phone them and had forgotten that they have a rather messy menu system on their phone.
I was asked if I was a new customer, an existing customer, an old customer returning to the fold or someone who was just moving house. I told them I was an existing customer.
I was then given a bewildering array of options, none of which seemed to fit my purposes, so I pressed 7 for ‘other’. That brought me back to the start again.
I pressed a few numbers at random and ended up talking to a rather tasty sounding girl. She asked me the usual questions, such as my name, address, what I had for breakfast, what I thought of the G20 talks, and eventually she asked me what I wanted.
I said I wanted to complain about the utter shite on all the channels. I said that out of all the five hundred or so channels I had available, there was nothing worth while watching on any of them.
‘You are not happy with the content of the channels?’ she asked.
‘That’s it,’ I said. ‘They are all crap.’
‘But we only supply the channels. The broadcasters provide the content. You would need to complain to them.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘They are the manufacturers, and you are the supplier, and under the Sale of Goods Act it is the supplier who is responsible.’
She thought about this for a moment and suggested that I subscribe to the Sports Package.
‘I hate sports,’ I said.
There was a long pause.
Eventually she spoke. ‘You hate sports?’
‘Yup,’ I replied. ‘Football is the worst but any sport is a complete waste of time.’
‘That is the fist time in my life that I have ever heard a man say that. Could you repeat it?’
‘I fucking hate sport,’ I said obligingly.
For some reason, she went off into a fit of giggles and it was about two minutes before she could speak again.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ says she. ‘I never thought I would hear that. You are unique.’
She got that bit right.
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