Two months after I cancelled Sky, a strange letter arrived in the post.
‘We are writing to you because we haven’t heard anything from you since we previously wrote to you about your overdue account,’ it said. Of course, I realise that it is easier for a rich man to get himself prosecuted for attempting to push his camel through the eye of a needle than for a customer to leave Sky.
But I had taken no chances.
My Sky account was terminated not by a call centre flunky trilling ‘And how can I help yourself today? Can I call yourself Melissa?’ It was cancelled by a ‘service excellence consultant’ on the executive support team.
I don’t much like doing this, but sometimes the only way to get anything done in this country is to push the cluck-it button.
On this occasion, I had spent so long first trying to move Sky to my new house, then trying to cancel Sky as the price went up and up, that I simply couldn’t get anywhere as a customer and had to start blabbing.
After I wrote about my troubles, the executive support team contacted me. Whereas before I was just a customer of 15 years arguing with a call centre in Naff-off-istan, once I was assigned to the crack team tasked with handling complainers who set off sirens in the PR department, my troubles really began.
A sweet Scottish lady telephoned me to conduct meandering philosophical conversations punctuated by impenetrable sophisms such as, ‘I want to reach an understanding of the type of journey you’ve had.’ ‘Yes,’ I would say, ‘but I really don’t want to discuss my journey, I just want you to let me move my Sky services from London to Surrey for a reasonable price.