Live Chat Cha-Cha

OK, so if you’ve read my previous post you’ll know that my blog isn’t actually broken as I suspected on Wednesday.  I just need to check my spam folder more often.

BUT…when I DID think that my blog had suddenly stopped offering readers the option to comment, I thought something very technical had gone awry, so I contacted my server for help.

This is what took place at our house at approximately 7.30am two mornings ago:

I came downstairs in my pyjamas and logged straight on to the laptop where I proceeded to the ‘Live Chat’ option on my server site.

‘Ariysha’ was my operator and she asked how she could help.  I typed in my problem and she asked me to ‘walk her through it’.  I did.  She asked for my answer to a security question.  I provided it. I watched the screen.  Nothing happened….until a message appeared that the ‘agent’ was typing a response.

Time to get the kids their breakfast?  I mistakenly thought so.  I legged it to the cupboard, dragged out cereal, sloshed on milk, shoved bread in the toaster, warmed Weetabix in the microwave, plonked my bum back on the seat, breathless…and discovered the agent had meanwhile asked how I had ‘built’ my website.

I thought about it.  Erm.  I, erm, did it through WordPress?  Then installed a WordPress theme I liked and hoped for the best?  Just as I was thinking how to phrase it so I didn’t sound like a complete numpty she typed, ‘Did you receive my last question?’

Then, fingers poised to type an answer, this popped up on the screen: ‘I have not received an answer for my last question so I am terminating this session.  Please contact us again if you require further assistance.’

You haven’t given me any f***ing assistance!  You’ve asked me questions and I’ve told YOU the answers!

I desperately typed: ‘I’m here!’  I imagined shouting it after her retreating figure, arm outstretched, mouthing, ‘Noooooooooo!’ as she walked off into the sunset.  But it was no good.  I’d been cruelly and unceremoniously dumped.

God help her boyfriend/future boyfriends:  ‘What topping do you want on your pizza?’  Her boyfriend pauses pensively, weighing up pepperoni or tuna.  ‘I asked you what topping you wanted on your pizza and you failed to respond.  This relationship is now terminated.’  Me and her boyfriend/future boyfriends are better off without her.  Bitch.

With a slightly trembling bottom lip I tried again.  This time my operator was called ‘Greesha S’ (very ‘Mischa B’ or ‘Mel C’.  Maybe she has aspirations of a singing career).

Anyhoo, for now she was a Fat Cow operator and I had some questions for her. We went through the same rigmarole; walk her through the problem, security question, etc. etc.  There was a long pause but this blogger had learnt her lesson, yes sirree, and STAYED PUT (even though by now it was 8.15am, no one was dressed and my husband was growing increasingly antsy).

‘Please can you hold for 3 to 4 minutes whilst I try to resolve this issue?’ was the question she asked.

Hell yes, I can hold! I thought as I raced up the stairs two at a time, hurled myself into the shower, scrubbed shampoo into my hair, put on conditioner before it was rinsed out, got facewash in my eye, threw on my dressing gown over wet skin and raced back downstairs with toothpaste on my chin.

‘Please, please, don’t let her have terminated me’ I silently prayed, as though she was some robotic Arnie figure sent from the future to kill me rather than a (probably) bored young woman in an American office dreaming about being on America’s Got Talent.

‘I will get back to you in 3 to 4 minutes with more information.  ‘Thank you for your patience.’  Thank f*** for that! You are SO welcome! ‘Right! Kids! Upstairs! Dressed!’

Ushering them upstairs, I ran into the bedroom and yanked off my dressing gown, analysing how many precious seconds moisturiser takes to apply.  Sod it, I wasn’t wearing black, no-one would see the flakes of dry skin.  I threw on baby wiped jeans and put on the least screwed up top. Had I applied deodorant?  I sniffed my pits and decided to risk it.

My 3-4 minute deadline was fast approaching before inevitable termination.  I figured I had just enough time to put on face moisturiser and foundation if I missed out eye-cream and plucking my eyebrows.

I scrambled downstairs, three at a time and threw myself in front of the laptop, panting.  ‘I’m sorry for the delay and thank you for your patience.  I will get back to you in another 3 to 4 minutes with some answers to your issue.’

I looked at my watch: 8.25am.  ‘Teeth cleaned, kids!’  ‘Josh, do a couple of pages of your reader!’  I scurried into the bedroom, pulled on shoes and socks, grabbed my makeup bag and hand mirror, ran a brush through my wet hair and virtually catapulted myself off the top step to get downstairs.

With a sweaty nose and forehead, frizzy hair and wild eyes, I read the operator’s message: ‘I’m very sorry for the delay.  We are trying to resolve the problem.  I will contact you in another 3 to 4 minutes.’

8.30am.  Bollocks.  I had ten minutes, max, before setting off on the school run but I couldn’t stop now, I’d come too far!  I sat at the laptop and threw my makeup at my face, hoping some of it would stick.

With Aunt Sally cheeks after an over-zealous application of blusher and a weeping eye from ‘face wash-gate’ followed by a mascara wand injury, I stared at the screen with my wet, straggly hair dripping onto my shoulders.

‘Come on, Greesha S, don’t fail me now’ I silently pleaded.  ‘I have escalated your problem to one of our technical team.  Your ticket number is 11368681.  Is  there anything else I can help you with today?’

Aaarrggghhhh!