Archive for the ‘Customer Service’ Category

Oh what a strange day, particularly the start bit. That was certainly unusual. So really it all started on Friday night, but before I get to that its probably best to warn you that this is going to get a bit personal, but that’s ok, I have very little shame anyway.

To get to the point. I found a lump. On Friday night. Way to ruin the evening. I was up for some action and it has to be said, finding “a lump” is a sure fire way to kill the passion. For at least 5 minutes anyway. Really, I’m married, I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of my weekly sex.

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Needless to say however, the lump got me slightly upset, for the whole weekend. I went from moping around to angry and all the while obsessively fondling my nut-sack. Every cloud eh?

Naturally, I followed my established routine of google-based self-diagnosis. “Fucking hell I’ve got testicular cancer!”, this despite the fact that what I could feel, did not quite match the descriptions or diagrams I’d found on-line, but never mind that, some of the symptoms matched. My bollocks did indeed feel heavy. And there was a lump.
By Sunday I’d practically convinced myself I was doomed, but on the way back from swimming I noticed that my balls were hot, really hot. This was new. Back to Google.

So after a bit of eDoctor and then a bit of Wikipedia I found out a little (a lot) about Epididymitis (google it yourself lazy boy), the symptoms sure did sound very familiar, and the outlook was a lot more appetising for sure, so feeling a bit more relaxed I spent the evening with my scrotum elevated (nice image, I was just lying down) enjoying watching the american version of The Office having decided to visit the doctor first thing in the morning.

Right, so its Monday morning (again) and I’ve already signed up to Bupa, I tell you one thing, I am not going through this shit again with the thought of spending time on a public ward on my mind! Next thing, get a doctors appointment. Done. 10:50 it is. Get your cock and balls out for a stranger time!

Between 9:00am and flashing time I had several reasons to pull out, but one very big reason to go ahead. Hell I didn’t want to get my balls out for a stranger! No way, but then I really didn’t like the downside much either. Time to man up.

I’m in with the doctor, I get straight to the point. I found a lump, I foolishly self-diagnosed, I reviewed my self-diagnosis and with my vast knowledge and experience I’ve come to the conclusion that I am happy with my diagnosis. “Epididimdididididisiss (or something)”

“Epididmytis” – he repeated.

“Yes, thats the one”.

“Ok, come with me” he said. Already reaching for the latex gloves. Hold on cowboy, no need to be so eager I’m thinking!

So he tells me to take my trousers off. I wish my wife was this keen. So I drop my trousers.

“I suppose you want my pants down too” I said.

“umm yes” he replied.

I’m not too sure which one of us is more uncomfortable with this part of the conversation.

He tells me to lay down and relax. I’ve heard this before, relaxing is NOT that easy. Whilst he feels around with my jewels I distract myself by recounting to him my exploits with Wikipedia and why I came to the conclusions I did.

Annoyingly, I already know I’ve been feeling a bit better this morning, but what really grinds my gears is that he confirms this by saying “Ok, I can’t find any signs of a lump, so I don’t believe that you have testicular cancer, can you find where you think the lump was?”

Well, I’ve not touched myself this morning, the constant man-handling of my “wheels” had contributed to my weekend of soreness, so I said “Yes, of course”.

Of course my arse, nothing feeling out of place, I point him to the right area. He confirms it may have just been a cyst, but he will refer to me for ultrasound anyway. Great, another stranger can look at my bollocks.

Whilst this is being explained to me, and I am being told that I did the right thing by coming in to see him, I am laying there, nuts out, cock out thinking two things to myself.

“Why am I just laying here with my knob out?”

and

“When is a good time to get up and put myself away?”

It feels like two minutes have passed, in actual fact, its probably been about 20 seconds. Am I enjoying the air on my man-parts?

I sit up and look down at my genitals. WHAT THE FUCK HAS HAPPENED TO THEM?

“Hey Penis!!! Where have you gone!?!?” (ok, I thought this, I didn’t say it. I hope).

I can’t believe it! It’s retreated into my body. FFS! Seriously. I look at the doctor, I am sure he is smirking. Fucker. So ok, it’s not normally something majestic to behold, but its a typically somewhat more magnificent than this!

Talk about mixed emotions, I mean, the temporarily relief that there is nothing wrong together with knowing that a complete stranger things I have an inverted penis!

Bring on the ultrasound.

Seriously. Apple pissing me off again. Within 15 minutes of taking 4S orders they have both failed to take reservations and also run out. It’s a farce.

Secondly, Pubs. Why do they insist on putting the toilets upstairs? Is it a sport to them to watch me try to negotiate the stairs when wasted?

Thirdly, blokes. Why the fuck do some blokes have to undo their belts to take a piss at a urinal? Even with my tiny beast I still manage to find and release the little fucker (no pun intended). Really though, what’s that all about?

Check out how I party courtesy of iPhone camera.

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And look at this prick…

I bet he even gets laid in these chrome effect shoes. What a twat.

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Look who we met in a pub… Ignore the red lighting… It really is a pub. No pay-as-you-go ladies.

Tonight I am slumming it.  I am staying at a Premier Inn.  This is something I am doing fairly reluctantly.  These places aren’t too bad, but they just aren’t homely.  Unless your home happens to be a prison cell.

I just hope that I don’t get a cell-mate reminiscent of Lenny Henry appearing to kick me off the top bunk.

Anyway, enough about the hotel, this isn’t about the hotel.  I am here to sleep.  To shower.  To eat breakfast.

My gripe tonight, what will be ruining my evening, what will spoil my night in a way that the Premier Inn “Good Night Guarantee” won’t cover is the piss poor customer service I am getting at the Apple Store.

Isn’t the Apple Store supposed to provide the ultimate retail experience?  Aren’t they supposed to care about their customers?  Particularly the sort of customer that is, well… me?  Here I am sat, using my 17″ Macbook Pro connected to the interweb through my iPhone’s tethering with my iPad safely nestling in my laptop bag.  At home my iMac is serving my two Apple TV’s through an Apple Airport network whilst being backed up by my Apple Time Capsule.  You get the idea.  I like Apple kit and I am heavily invested in Apple with my music, TV and Movies being served up by Apple.

So why the fuck is it that they choose to treat me with such contempt?  Have they just let things slide the minute Steve Jobs (RIP – of course) turned his back?

The problem is that I want NEED an iPhone 4S.  No really, I do.  My 3GS is now well overdue an upgrade.  It’s battery fails to last even a single day and I really do want those shiny new features.  Apple however don’t want to sell me one.  Not even at the near extortionate price of £699.  Bastards.

I can of course reserve one on-line for pickup from an Apple Store, but for some reason I can only reserve one for pickup after from 8am through 12pm.  My problem is I cannot collect it until 8pm.  No way, not at all.  So I call the Apple Store to explain to them that I will indeed come and pick it up.  I even tell them the exact time I will arrive.  But no.  I am not allowed to pick it up at my convenience.  Even with a reservation.

Well, to cut a long rant short…  FUCK YOU APPLE.  Time to try out Android!  You drove me to this.  Surely your phone isn’t even THAT good right?  I mean £699-and-you-still-won’t-let-me-buy-it-good?

There is a reason the Apple logo is missing a bite… somebody tried the apple, found it had a sour taste and left the rest behind.