sashinka | observation orientated, with a twist of lime | a blog

British Gas: Nil. Me: One
So Muddi, the (a) supervisor finally called me at 1748. After a lot of to-ing and fro-ing where he couldn't tell me what had gone wrong, and I couldn't be bothered to argue for very long, I got him to give me a £20 credit against my bill. This is my usual methodology: Look, your service is lousy. I know it isn't your fault, but I'm not happy with [field one]. Why don't you just give me a discretionary credit now and I'll go away? So he's writing to guarantee how everything works and to set up my (discounted) direct debit. I wonder what a job that does this kind of thing is called?

Oh, I just remembered. Wife. That's what I need.