Cold caller colic

It’s ages since I had a good rant and moan in this column. But this week I have a stinking cold. And it is nearly Christmas, the only stressful period in a calendar that, these days, is basically stress-free the rest of the year. So here we go.

Cold callers. When the phone rings and, instead of a friendly recognisable voice, it’s “Can I speak to Mr M Rivett?”.  The calls that almost negate the advantages of having a land line; that make you wonder why you bother to be ex-directory. The calls that are about as welcome as an unexpected fart in the queue at the supermarket checkout.

I know some people enjoy the interaction – stringing along the unfortunate on the other end of the phone, who is probably just a couple of hours into an soulless 8-hour shift of ringing random people who don’t want to be rung. Letting them get well into their rehearsed script ...and then knocking them down with a killer quip or just some basic rudeness. And who knows, maybe the call operators enjoy the exchange for the variety.

But frankly I can’t be bothered, and most often they only get as far as “I’m calling about your recent accident...” or “The UK Office of Administrative Affairs believes you may have been mis-sold PPI...” before I’m citing the Telephone Preference Service and asking for contact details. Whereupon they generally hang up.

But recently 3 calls in as many days from British Gas really got my blood boiling. The first was about insurance. Just because we have Homecare cover for our boiler they seem to think they have the right to call every few weeks to tell us they can now, amazingly, offer to extend this to freezers, cookers, dishwashers, plumbing, home entertainment systems, electric toothbrushes, pet grooming equipment... If they offered to cover sex toys and drug paraphernalia next it would not surprise me in the faintest.

The second call I also got rid of quickly. Late spring 2011 seemed to be a good time to do a price comparison as everyone knew that gas and electricity prices were going up in the summer. So we switched from British Gas to a lower-cost tariff with someone else, fixed for 12 months and no penalty for leaving after the 12 months. Clearly I wasn’t going to change again this year.

But the British Gas call-centre guy on Day 3 was quick enough to get a conversation going. It went something like this:

CCO: I understand you have a new gas and electricity supplier

M: Yes

CCO: We would like you to come back to us

M: Thank you but I am satisfied with my current provider.

CCO: We would offer a discount of £200 if you come back to us

M: No thank you

CCO: What?! Even for £200?!

M: If your prices were that low I wouldn’t have switched in the first place

CCO: We didn’t know you were thinking of leaving.

M: Everyone knew prices were going to go up this summer. What did you expect?

(replaces handset, thinking IF YOU CAN PROVIDE THE ENERGY I NEED FOR £200 LESS, WHICH IS CLEARLY A FAIR PRICE FROM YOUR POINT OF VIEW, WHY THE F*%$ ARE YOU RIPPING PEOPLE LIKE ME OFF TO THE TUNE OF £200, YOU GRASPING BASTARDS!)

Now I have nothing against call centre operators, and as in all personal interactions I try to be polite and pleasant. Life is generally better that way. And I am encouraged by the recent trend for cold calls to begin with a recorded message – you can simply hang up without feeling guilty. But the fact I am in the situation of having to put up with this crap makes me want to smash something.

Today’s new householders have no idea that, prior to the 1980s these calls were unimaginable. Your water, electricity, train journeys, gas ...even your phone service came from the same supplier as everyone else’s! There was no having to shop around and barter. No telephone or doorstep harassment! No meaningless call centre jobs. (I never felt my work in profit-driven pharmaceutical research was particularly useful, but it had to be a million times more socially valuable than spending all day intruding into the lives of strangers from a call centre workhouse.) And, most telling of all, nobody was allowed to make profit out of essential public services that everybody needs.

And how did this state of affairs arise? All of these services were in public ownership but were sold to private businesses in the 1980s so they could make money out of our basic needs. (And now they are selling the schools as well!)

Was it Tory dogma: a free market is best? Or a refusal to tackle the problem of some services not working optimally? A way to diminish the unions? (...The solution of a 3-year-old knocking down his tower of bricks in a tantrum because the next brick doesn’t fit? ...Of selling off the family silver and rewiring the house instead of replacing a fuse? ...The spiteful dog-poo-in-PE-pumps of a playground bully?)

 All of these!  And Jeez – Cameron is spouting about ‘moral collapse’ after his own party perpetrated arguably the most immoral act of any UK government since 1956. The nerve of it.

This is the lasting legacy of Thatcher and her cronies. As issues go it hardly ranks with losing your home or family through earthquake, famine or flood.  But I will not forgive these vandals for the destruction they perpetrated. And the ongoing aggro week after week.

There! I feel much better now. Not remotely bitter or twisted. Bring on the old movies and the Christmas specials!