Are you being served?
Picture it: it’s a public holiday, I’m feeling rough and run down, and the faint rumble of my stomach is indicating that hunger is well and truly among us. There’s nothing that I feel like eating in the house so I decide to phone to get a delivery. This act should have been one that made me feel slightly better, and well, less hungry. Instead, it turned out to be a full-on hour of frustration.
If someone had to ask me why I think people in Malta are so angry (and we really are), I think one of the main things I can trace it back to is that we are surrounded by inefficiency and inconvenience at every turn; it’s almost as if everything on this blessed piece of rock is engineered to make our life 10 times harder than it needs to be.
Thank God that suffering is considered to be an integral part of the Catholic faith because at least a few can still look forward to getting their just desserts, maybe.
Speaking of desserts and returning to what I was saying before, I phoned no less than three places to try to get someone to deliver to me. The first said they could only deliver to my neighbouring village and made it sound like they were going to have to walk it barefoot on hot coals to my location, and the other two had apparently made enough money for the day because their lines remained unanswered, my calls untaken.
Everything on this blessed piece of rock is engineered to make our life 10 times harder than it needs to be
It beggars belief that in 2018 I have to literally sell a vital organ to get people to actually give me the service they’re advertising. And the buck doesn’t stop there.
Have any of you good people ever tried to get your money from an insurance company after a crash? I have. It was by far one of the most tedious, torturous and frustrating experiences I have ever been through. Almost every three or four days for six months I phoned and phoned again to no avail. They claimed they had lost my file twice; they claimed a claim had never been filed; they even claimed I had never even rung them. By the end of the ordeal, I had told my nearest and dearest that if a bomb was going to go off under the insurance company’s headquarters, I was definitely the culprit.
There’s no such thing as simple, no such thing as a smooth transaction, everything is covered in either bureaucracy or an open and shockingly unmasked unwillingness to care. It really does beg the question: is there anyone out there willing to serve?