Insult to injury...
Just spent twenty-five minutres on the telephone to Ticketmaster in the States. Why? To try and get a refund on the tickets I bought for me and David to go and see the Pet Shop Boys' Wotapalava tour. The concert has been cancelled so (obviously) I wanted my money back. Easy to understand I would have thought. Concert cancelled. Refund due. Easy. No concert - money back. They have $176.90 of my money that I want it back. Sooner rather than later. Now even. Right now. (You can see where this is going, I'm sure). Well, Bob, I-will-be-your-customer-representative-today-sir didn't quite seem to understand the idea. No, Bob I don't have an account with you. No, Bob I don't want to swap for a different date, the tour is cancelled. No, Bob I don't want a credit note, what would I do with a credit note? No, Bob I just want a full refund. No, Bob I'm not interested in joining your mailing list, or receiving information from your strategic partner American Express. No, Bob. No. Look. Bob. Look! All I'm asking is for you to give me my money back. I want a refind, Bob. Look. Now look! Just GIVE ME MY FUCKING MONEY BACK! .... ....thank you. Yes. Sorry, I didn't mean to shout. I know you only work there. I'm sorry. Yes, of course. No, I understand that $3 is for the handling charge. No, that's quite alright. No, I'm sorry too. Yes. Yes. OK. Goodbye (clunk).
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