You may not know this but most of my vitriolic outpourings on the interweb are tapped into the laptop as I zoom up and down what is laughably called "The Fen Line" by the railway company and then squirted into the ether by a GPRS card which sticks its bright red aerial out of the side of my PC making my lappy look like a dog with a stiffy (memo to self: do not lend laptop to Eric Gill).
As you can guess from the colour of said aerial the card hooks up to Vodafone and, for twenty five quid a month, I get 250Mb of download traffic. All fair enough until last month when I get hit with a 118 quid bill. Quick look at said bill confirmed that they hadn't included my "inclusive" quota of blog postings and internet porn so I ring up to sort it out.
"Oh yes, we've made a mistake, we'll send you out a revised bill."
Week later, no bill and 118 quid missing from the dragon's horde.
Big mistake; There is a pile of eviscerated knights out by the bins1 which should serve as a warning that pilfering from my big pile of gold, jewels and collateralised debt securities is not a good idea.
Ring Ring: "Hello Vodadog? So how come you've taken this money out, when you said you wouldn't?"
"Oh yes, some bills went out in error. We'll refund you on the next bill."
"Hang on, you're in possession of ninety three quid of mine. Are you going to refund the interest?"
"Er No."
"Give it back now then."
"Can't"
"Can't or won't?"
"Can't. I can't do refunds. Talk to your bank."
"I assure you that is exactly what I shall be doing. Can you take a complaint?"
"Yes."
"Good, now this is how you spell 'shoddy customer service', 'theft', 'fraud' and 'please stand still while I immolate you'"
Cunts. Wonder what O2's reception between London and Cambridge is like.
UPDATE: I'm not alone, apparently.
UPDATE UPDATE: Bank were sweetness and light (they get like that when they look at the balance of the hoard) and promised I'd have my money back within a day.
1 Bloody council refuse to take them away. No idea why I pay my council tax, shoddy bastards.
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