At least, I wanted to change or rather cancel my digital subscription to the Times. I didn’t use the app, I couldn’t get my head round all the options, and I have many other more easily accessible optios available.
So, for once, I grabbed the bull by the horns and decided to make hay while the sun shines. I found the number (on the app, it must be admitted) for cancellations and proceeded to ring. I was prepared to wait a long time as I pressed through all the options, but I had no need to be so cynical. Before I knew it, a warm but languid voice answered my greeting and declared that yes indeed he would deal with my cancellation. I was prepared too to hold my ground and not be persuaded to just try for a month or two more. And indeed the young man proceeded to grill me about my reasons for cancelling. But before he started his inquisition he let slip that I was only the second caller of the day, and that he was pleased of the interruption. Somehow he charmed me, and when I said, “Let me entertain you,” he burst out laughing and told me to go ahead. I don’t think I was that amusing, but we argued a bit about the relative merits of the Guardian and the Telegraph and the Independent – I have to say he was fiercely loyal to his employer – respect – and then I succumbed to the age old excuse of being too aged to learn a new app. He took umbrage at this and told me I wasn’t that old. Should I have been flattered? I asked him how he knew how old I was. Obviously I don’t sound old, but you never know. He just confirmed that he had my date of birth in front of him! Oh dear. We talked a bit more about how I’d been reading newspapers for almost sixty years and then he told me he had a teacher with a surname similar to mine. And was I Polish?.
I should have asked him what school he went to, but instead we talked about Polish weddings – three days was too much for him when he went – so I asked him how old he was. 25. Oh dear. No stamina.
I told him I was married at 25. And then we got on to the subject of wedding cakes. I told him about my daughter’s cheese tower. He couldn’t imagine it. (See picture above.)We somehow got on to the subject of his girlfriend -Sicilian – and how perhaps he’d prefer a celebratory lasagne instead. Surreal. All in all I have no idea if he was entertained, but I certainly was. I won’t renew my subscription for the time being, but I feel I left on a high note. Thank you, Benji!