You hear all this stuff about the Celtic Tiger, but often enough it can seem no more than the old, ineffectual Hibernian sloth dressed in the raiments of oriental felinity. Has a plumber ever arrived on the day - never mind the hour - of the fixed appointment? Has anyone ever greeted that plumber, tears of gratitude welling down their cheeks as the blocked pipe below the floor fills the hall with soft and pungent dung, without that plumber discovering that he'll have to go and get some equipment that - as it happens - he has not got with him?
He never has it with him. Never, never, never. The fine, cheery fellow departs to his van with a wave, and you haven't seen him since. All other enquiries to plumbers are met with an answer-phone; and since you are not asking for the central heating in Dublin Airport to be replaced, or requesting the replumbing of the county Kildare, you get no reply. Never. Meanwhile the children, have learned to do the backstroke in the slurry washing through their bedrooms, and your house has reduced the property prices of the vicinity to that of a shanty town in Chad.
Long-running saga
Where is this Celtic Tiger when it comes to tradesmen honouring an undertaking? And what is the culture which permits people to make an appointment with you at your house, for which you'll be missing work, then never turn up, along with no apology, regret or explanation?
None appeared the other day in the long-running saga of my Oki answering machine and fax. It is the third such Oki fax machine I have been supplied with, the previous two having given up the ghost within months of my getting them. Those two I had had replaced by Peats, the people from whom I bought the initial Oki. When the third answering machine got it into its head to speak to incoming callers in Kurdish before blowing their eardrums out with acoustic hand-grenades, I contacted Peats again. The Peats salesman said: "Why keep on going to the trouble of bringing the machine in here? Why not just phone Oki, and they'll come to your home, and you won't have to stir. S'easy."
S'not, as I discovered. I telephoned Oki Systems in Dublin and explained my problem. Would I fax them details of the telefax for warranty purposes? Certainly. The fax bit was working. Sort of, though it took two goes to get the fax through. The Oki Systems man rang back and said, be sure to be at home on Monday morning, we'll be sending you a replacement machine then.
Good. What time? Tennish, he replied.
Not wanting to miss him lest he be early - did you ever hear such naive bog-peasant credulousness? - I missed my morning walk with my menagerie in the presidentless Park, a vital part of my day. But no matter. I had to have my Oki replaced, because it was blasting people's ears to San Francisco Bay and beyond. How they don't laugh.
Coping with callers
I waited at home. Ten passed. Ten thirty. Eleven. Eleven thirty. Nothing. This was my morning vanishing. I rang Oki Systems. They have an interesting way of coping with callers. I'll put you through to the Help-desk, said the young woman on the switch; and then she gave me 10 minutes of Gerry Ryan.
On this earth you will barely find a more perfervid admirer of the broadcasting talents of Gerry Ryan, but if I wanted to hear him, I could more easily get him on my radio, and not at Telecom's witheringly high rates.
I rang off and rang back. The switch said the Help-desk was busy. No doubt it was, I said, but I had been sitting around all morning waiting for my replacement Oki fax. Could she get someone at the Help-desk to ring me when they were free, please? I gave her my number and rang off.
Silence yawned in my room, filling it for another hour. The phone did not ring. I rang Oki Services again and I was speaking to a young lady again - the same one, probably. In tones which I like to think were composed I told the switch-girl that I been ringing and had been put on hold and had listened to Gerry Ryan and had waited and waited at home, gazing at the rain - but, despite all my endeavours, I had neither spoken to anyone who could help me NOR SEEN ANY SIGN OF MY BLEEDING REPLACEMENT FAXANSWERPHONE. But I didn't put it like that.
Larry Gogan
I did not want to be put on hold, I said sweetly, I did not want to give my phone number, I did not want to be told to ring back; I wanted to speak to someone NOW.
One moment, she said sweetly, the Helpdesk is free now. And so saying, she plugged me into 2FM again - Larry Gogan this time. For six minutes.
A voice then came on the line, asking me sweetly if she could help me. I nearly put my hand down the phone and pulled her tonsils out by the roots. It turned out that this was a different telephonist: the first one had put me on hold and had then skedaddled off for lunch, leaving me with Larry. I hope she enjoyed her lunch.
I explained my morning to the new switch-girl. "I'll put you though to the Helpdesk now," she carolled sweetly.
YOU'LL DO NO SUCH THING, I bellowed, for by this time I had had my annual ration of 2FM. It only goes so far, 2FM - perhaps you've noticed that? The new girl on the switch suggested that I leave my number - again - and somebody on the Help-desk - oh wondrous title! - would phone me back.
I felt this was as likely as finding man-eating halibut kidnapping and devouring Poor Clares in Roscommon. But what was I to do? I complied.
Three hours later I finally left home - no phone-call, no fax, no nothing from Oki Systems. An hour later, somebody from the Help-desk rang and my wife, now returned from her day's work, took the call. Oki Systems - who had already been given my address over the phone and in writing by fax - wanted to know was I in Dublin at all? If I was, the fax would be arriving tomorrow.
Sure.