The commonest announcement following the “for your convenience” tag is something like – “in order to serve you better/provide better and more personal service to you” we are going to increase fees to allow us to remain competitive in the cut-throat world of banking (or telecom or public transport). I always laugh when my bank assures me it is thinking only of me when it decides to charge me $2 per transaction for allowing me to do all my own banking via the internet. It used to cost them a lot more to allow me into their parlours to deal with them.
Then I go to the supermarket and find all the frozen fish has been thawed for my convenience. This means I have to eat the fish today, because it won’t keep after being defrosted and I can’t freeze it again. That’s very convenient, Mr Coles. Thanks very much. I grin sardonically.
Then they introduced call-waiting, so that when I’m talking to my elderly friend who doesn’t hear well, someone else can interrupt me by ringing irritatingly in my ear – and in hers. How rude! I will never ever have call waiting. Take it away, for my convenience! I have a fixed smirk on my face now.
Telephones themselves are hell on a string. Alexander Graham Bell has a lot to answer for (if indeed he did invent the telephone. The US has recognized a claim by an Italian, Antonio Meucci and someone called Elisha Gay reckons he did.) They are designed as a disruption to your time, a break in concentration, with distracting sounds to increase stress by several decibels.
Then we have the innovative telephone answering systems designed for our convenience. I know this is so, they all tell me that for my convenience I need only hit a few phone buttons to be directed to the appropriate advisor for my query. Well, firstly, it’s rarely a query, it’s usually a complaint, and secondly, after 85 phone buttons I usually return to the number I first thought of, because none of the suggestions matches what I wanted to talk about. Now I’m grimacing. There are no laughs left.
Perhaps I’ll buy some furniture, a table to rest my telephone on, or for cutting up my rapidly-deteriorating fish. Do you deliver? Of course, madam. We deliver for your convenience. When can you deliver this for me? Well, you’ve just missed our order to the warehouse, so it will be a week from today, between 8.30 and 5.30. And by the way, it will cost $65. (That’s for their convenience.) By now I’m gnashing my teeth.
I did find a smile when I filled up with petrol last week, although it was not gleeful and amused. It was a despairing and beaten mouth movement, designed to hold back the tears. A sign on the bowser read: “For your convenience, this pump will run silently.” Oh yes. I can no longer judge when the tank is full, instead I’ll find out when hideously expensive fuel pours out and all over my duco and wheels. I can’t think of a single reason for this innovation. Can you?
If only one organization would admit that they make changes for their convenience, not mine! Actually, I can think of an activity that would be carried out entirely for my convenience. Improved public toilets would be a good thing, and certainly designed for your convenience.
Then I go to the supermarket and find all the frozen fish has been thawed for my convenience. This means I have to eat the fish today, because it won’t keep after being defrosted and I can’t freeze it again. That’s very convenient, Mr Coles. Thanks very much. I grin sardonically.
Then they introduced call-waiting, so that when I’m talking to my elderly friend who doesn’t hear well, someone else can interrupt me by ringing irritatingly in my ear – and in hers. How rude! I will never ever have call waiting. Take it away, for my convenience! I have a fixed smirk on my face now.
Telephones themselves are hell on a string. Alexander Graham Bell has a lot to answer for (if indeed he did invent the telephone. The US has recognized a claim by an Italian, Antonio Meucci and someone called Elisha Gay reckons he did.) They are designed as a disruption to your time, a break in concentration, with distracting sounds to increase stress by several decibels.
Then we have the innovative telephone answering systems designed for our convenience. I know this is so, they all tell me that for my convenience I need only hit a few phone buttons to be directed to the appropriate advisor for my query. Well, firstly, it’s rarely a query, it’s usually a complaint, and secondly, after 85 phone buttons I usually return to the number I first thought of, because none of the suggestions matches what I wanted to talk about. Now I’m grimacing. There are no laughs left.
Perhaps I’ll buy some furniture, a table to rest my telephone on, or for cutting up my rapidly-deteriorating fish. Do you deliver? Of course, madam. We deliver for your convenience. When can you deliver this for me? Well, you’ve just missed our order to the warehouse, so it will be a week from today, between 8.30 and 5.30. And by the way, it will cost $65. (That’s for their convenience.) By now I’m gnashing my teeth.
I did find a smile when I filled up with petrol last week, although it was not gleeful and amused. It was a despairing and beaten mouth movement, designed to hold back the tears. A sign on the bowser read: “For your convenience, this pump will run silently.” Oh yes. I can no longer judge when the tank is full, instead I’ll find out when hideously expensive fuel pours out and all over my duco and wheels. I can’t think of a single reason for this innovation. Can you?
If only one organization would admit that they make changes for their convenience, not mine! Actually, I can think of an activity that would be carried out entirely for my convenience. Improved public toilets would be a good thing, and certainly designed for your convenience.
Ana Thema
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