The To-Do List (11 page)

       
‘I’m calling because my email’s not working—’

       
‘I see,’ said ‘Robert’, cutting me off. ‘That is a problem. Mr Gayle, can I ask, are you using an Apple Mac or a PC?’

       
‘A Mac,’ I replied.

       
‘Ah,’ replied ‘Robert’. ‘I can only deal with problems related to PCs. I will have to put you on to my colleague.’

       
And before I could tell him that it didn’t matter whether he only worked with PCs or not because I wanted to leave, he put me on hold and after a decade I was put through to ‘Andy’ who, claiming that he had no record of my previous call, attempted to take me through exactly the same procedure that ‘Jason’ had previously taken me through.

       
‘But I’ve already done this!’

       
‘Mr Gayle,’ said ‘Andy’ calmly, ‘we must follow the procedure exactly if we are going to be able to help you.’

       
‘Even if I’ve already done it? And know for a fact it doesn’t work?’

       
‘If it doesn’t work this can be something that we can find out together.’

       
‘But I don’t want us to find this out together because I already found it out together with the last bloke I spoke to.’

       
‘I understand your frustration, Mr Gayle,’ replied ‘Andy’ ‘but I still have to take you through the process otherwise I wouldn’t be doing my job.’

       
‘Fine,’ I replied. ‘Let’s do it your way.’

       
‘Andy’ took me through the exact same procedures that ‘Jason’ had previously taken me through (all of which still didn’t work) before suggesting that once again I re-installed the software.

       
‘You want me to re-install the software even though it’s been . . . oh, I don’t know, the best part of twenty minutes since I last re-installed it?’

       
‘Yes, please, Mr Gayle. Please re-install the software.’

       
There was something about the confidence in Andy’s voice that made me think, ‘Well perhaps he knows what he’s talking about.’ So once again I searched out the AOL software disk, undertook a clean re-install and then attempted to check my email. It still didn’t work.

       
Now I really was furious. I called AOL straight back.

‘Hello, Mr Gayle, you’re through to AOL and my name is “Mark”, how can I help you?’

       
‘I’m calling because my email’s not working—’

       
‘I see,’ said ‘Mark’. ‘That is a problem. Mr Gayle, can I ask are you using an Apple Mac or a PC?’

       
‘A Mac,’ I replied.

       
‘Ah,’ replied ‘Mark’. ‘I can only deal with problems related to PCs. I will have to put you on to my colleague.’

       
‘But—’

       
It was too late. ‘Mark’ had put me on hold and in one swift movement I found myself well and truly beyond furious and now officially in the land of the livid.

       
‘Hello, Mr Gayle, you’re through to AOL and my name is “John”. I’m an Apple Mac specialist, how can I help you?’

       
‘Listen “John”,’ I said pointedly. ‘It’s like this: my email is not working, I’ve called three times now and have been passed from pillar to post to find a Mac specialist who then proceeds to take me through a bunch of procedures that don’t work before suggesting that I re-install the AOL software again.’

       
‘Mr Gayle,’ said ‘John’ calmly, ‘we must follow the procedure exactly if we are going to be able to help you.’

       
‘Even if I’ve already done it? And know for a fact it doesn’t work? Because it doesn’t, you know?’

       
‘If it doesn’t work this can be something that we can find out together.’

       
‘But I don’t want us to find this out together!’ I yelled. ‘I already know it doesn’t work and so would you if your stupid computers were updated properly!’

       
‘I understand your frustration, Mr Gayle,’ replied ‘John’, ‘but I still have to take you through the process otherwise I wouldn’t be doing my job.’

       
I couldn’t believe it.

       
‘Are you telling me that you’re going to make me go through this whole process again?’

       
‘Mr Gayle,’ said ‘John’, still calmly. ‘It is the only way.’

       
‘Well, let’s see about that, because I’m taping this conversation we’re having right now and I think it would make interesting reading in my local newspaper!’

       
I was lying of course. I wasn’t recording anything. The idea had just sort of sprung into my head and refused to leave and now it was out there. Suddenly ‘John’ no longer sounded quite as cool and calm as before.

       
‘Mr Gayle.’ ‘John’ sounded distinctly ruffled. ‘Did you say you were recording this conversation?’

       
‘What if I am? You are too, aren’t you? There’s that long speech before you pick up saying that you record calls for “training purposes”.’

       
‘Mr Gayle,’ he said forcefully, ‘could you please answer my question: are you recording this conversation?’

       
I could tell from the severity in his voice that he wasn’t going to let it go and I was so annoyed that I wasn’t going to let it go either.

       
‘For the sake of argument, let’s just say that I am recording this telephone conversation. What exactly are you going to do about it?’

       
‘Mr Gayle, if you are recording this conversation then I will have to terminate this call immediately.’ He put the phone down on me.

The sound and fury of a thousand and one expletives being released in one almighty roar quickly brought my wife rushing up the stairs to see who or what had died.

       
‘What’s the matter, babe?’

       
‘They’ve just put the phone down on me!’ I raged.

       
‘Who?’

       
‘Some bloke in Mumbai!’

       
‘Why were you calling some bloke in Mumbai?’

       
‘I wasn’t. I was calling AOL and I got put through to some bloke in Mumbai.’

       
‘Why did he put the phone down on you?’

       
‘Because I told him I was recording the call.’

       
Claire looked puzzled. ‘Why were you recording the call?’

       
‘I wasn’t, I was just pretending so that the bloke at the other end of the line would stop trying to make me do things to my computer that I’d already done.’

       
‘But I thought you were trying to leave them anyway?’ reasoned Claire. ‘Why would you even be trying to fix the problem?’

       
‘That’s not the point,’ I spluttered. ‘But they’ll soon find out what the point is when I call them back!’

       
‘Why don’t you wait until you’re a little calmer?’

       
‘Because I don’t want to be calm! I’ve just had the phone put down on me! Have you any idea how outrageous that is? What kind of world do we live in where people can put phones down on other people just because they’re recording phone calls? This isn’t Communist-era eastern Germany you know? I’ve got rights! This is England!’

       
‘But they’re in Mumbai,’ sighed Claire, giving me a roll of the eyes quickly followed by a ‘This-will-all-end-in-tears’ headshake. ‘Look, I don’t care what you do. But try to keep the noise down and remember that if our daughter starts cursing like a sailor any time soon, having AOL put the phone down on you will
definitely
be the least of your problems.’

       
As I picked up the phone and mentally prepared myself to give ‘John’ or whomever else they put on the line a piece of my mind I began to feel guilty. After all, this wasn’t Mumbai ‘John’s’ fault at all. He was probably just some student trying to make a bit of money in his spare time so that he could go out for a drink with his mates. He couldn’t help having to stick to AOL’s rage-inducing script. His bosses were probably listening in to make sure he didn’t deviate. He more than likely found the situation just as frustrating as I did and was probably dying to say: ‘Look, mate, I feel your pain but my hands are tied.’

       
With all this in mind, I told myself that whatever happened I was going to stay calm.

       
‘Good evening, Mr Gayle, you’re through to AOL and you’re talking to “Paul”, how may I help you today?’

       
‘Hello, “Paul”,’ I began calmly. ‘First off I’d like to say that I genuinely hope you’re having a good afternoon yourself and secondly I’d—’

       
‘Mr Gayle,’ said ‘Paul’ talking over me, ‘before I can help you with your query this evening can I ask are you recording this conversation?’

       
‘What?’

       
‘Mr Gayle,’ repeated ‘Paul’ coolly. ‘According to your notes you are recording telephone conversations. Is this true?’

       
I couldn’t believe it! ‘John’ had flagged me up on the AOL database as being ‘someone who records phone calls’!

       
‘I’m what?’ I feigned outrage.

       
‘Mr Gayle, according to your notes on the system you are recording telephone conversations. Is this true?’

       
‘Now, hang on a second, mate!’ I felt myself lose all sense of proportion. ‘You can put a note on your system saying “Mr Gayle is recording phone calls”, but you can’t manage to put a note on the system that says, “Please don’t wind Mr Gayle up any more because he’s called on three separate occasions and already we’ve made him jump three times through the same hoops like some kind of performing monkey!” ’

       
‘Paul’ was unmoved. ‘Mr Gayle, I must repeat: are you recording this telephone conversation?’

       
I opened my mouth hoping that some manner of cleverness would leap from my lips but to no avail. Not only did I know that ‘Paul’ would put the phone down if I said yes but I knew ‘Paul’ knew that I knew too and, unless I was prepared to just keep phoning AOL’s Mumbai base only to have them put the phone down, I was going to have to give in at some point.

       
‘No,’ I replied weary and broken. ‘No, I am not recording this call.’

       
There was a long silence. Probably just enough time for ‘Paul’ to cover the mouthpiece, punch the air in victory and then high-five ‘Steve’, ‘Jason’, ‘Robert’, ‘Andy’, ‘Mark’, and ‘John’.

       
‘That is good to hear, Mr Gayle,’ said ‘Paul’. ‘Now, how exactly may I help you this evening?’

The upside of my encounter with AOL was that having wasted the best part of a whole afternoon battling its Mumbai-based Outpost of Evil in an effort to fix a software problem that I didn’t want rectified in order to have an excuse to get rid of a service that I no longer needed, I failed to experience even a shred of guilt when I reached the point in my conversation with ‘Paul’ when I got to tell him that I wanted to leave. That said, the little screen that shows the duration of the last phone call revealed that my battle with AOL had wasted forty-seven minutes of life that I was never going to get back, time that could have been better spent writing my novel, playing with my kids or simply staring into space. I may have earned another tick, but it had been hard won.

That evening, as we were sitting down to watch TV, Claire turned to me and smiled. ‘It’s a good thing, this list of yours.’

       
I was surprised. Since my encounter with AOL I had started to think that it was a huge pain in the backside.

       
‘Do you really think so?’

       
‘Absolutely. I think it’s brilliant. You’re getting things done and making things happen. Just think about it: that’s the best part of £120 a year that you’ve saved by leaving AOL. You might not have gone about it the right way but it’s definitely a result.’ Claire stifled a huge yawn. ‘Anyway, so what’s next, List Master? Learning to play tennis? Kissing the Blarney stone? Writing a letter of complaint to Tony Blair about the missing bin from outside the newsagent at the top of the road?’

       
‘None of those things are even on the List, babe, let alone ear-marked for my next big tick-off.’

       
‘So what is your next big “tick-off”?’ said Claire, clearly amused by my growing List-inspired vocabulary.

       
‘Something I’ve had on my mind for quite a while now.’ I stifled a huge yawn of my own, ‘Items 42 to 50: “Catch up with lost friends because you know what? They used to be great friends”.’

Chapter 10: ‘Catch up with lost friends because you know what? They used to be great friends.’

My list of lost friends was long. Very long. It included every kind of lost friend imaginable: Ian and Scott (rubbish summer job lost friends); Monica and Paige (over-worked and under-paid bar working lost friends); Jane, Mia and Simon (camping holiday in Anglesey lost friends); Sarah, Alex and Maria (working on teen magazine lost friends); Sam, Richard and Tall Mike (lost friends inherited from other lost friends); Emma, Jo, Anthony and Alison (university lost friends); Cath, Susie and Sarah (sixth-form lost friends); Mick, Mark and Simon (secondary-school lost friends) and Lisa, Steve and Jen (early days in London lost friends).

       
I decided to start with the easy ones: those with email addresses. This still left an awful lot of work to do, as the last time I saw some of these people, email had yet to be invented. I began to try to type a suitable message but found myself stuck. What exactly was I supposed to say to people that I hadn’t spoken to in years? And what reason was I going to give for contacting them now? Would they be pleased that they were on my 1,277-item-long To-Do List, or would they be vaguely insulted? I decided to put the question to Claire, who was usually pretty good at working out whether or not I was insulting people.