Being the reasonably honest person that I am, I like to do as required as soon as it is required of me, or, at least as soon as I can. Such was the case yesterday afternoon.
I am still struggling twenty four hours later, to "calm down Dear," as commanded by my wife. I am also having trouble deleting expletives before I utter them, at the very thought of traumas I suffered in an afternoon of great anxiety, dashed annoyance and ever climbing blood pressure.
For those of you still with me at this point, I will explain all. I received, last week, a letter telling me that I am due to start receiving my State Pension a little later this year. The letter bade me call the office from which the letter came, in order that I apply for it formally. I so did. I was dealt with politely, efficiently and in a very short time by a very polite and helpful member of staff. The pension, along with the derisory amount, were confirmed and bank details were given, ready for the first payment. I was assured that a letter would arrive after a few days, confirming all that was as said during our conversation. The letter duly arrived yesterday morning. The envelope was still warm as it hit the doormat having been borne lovingly and carefully in the hand of the postman.
This is where the story starts in earnest. I didn't open the letter until early afternoon. As promised, the derisory amount of my pension was confirmed-subject to being taxed unmercifully-as well as the date of first payment being made. The accompanying letter instructed that my next step was to inform the tax office of my new found wealth and the source, dates etc. No telephone number was given though. Not to worry, I thought. That's what the Internet is for I thought. It'll be on the HMRC website. (In the past I might have called 118 500 or similar, to ask for the number-not now though, have you seen how much the blighters charge?) Yes, hallelujah! a telephone number appeared. I rang the number a little before 3pm.
This first brush with the system gave me six options, none of which said it dealt with pension details. I chose an option at random. I was offered 4 more options. Again, no luck, so another option was chosen. This time I was given a different number to call. It's now 3.10pm.
Number dialled, six options, some of which were also available in the first call. No obvious option so random choice made. Five new options this time. Chose alternative number again. Called the number-same as first two calls-frustration setting in. New number etc, etc, etc.. By this time it was 3.18pm.
To cut a very long story short, I arrived at telephone number, number six. (I later calculated that I had in fact been offered 60 alternatives in the first five calls, none of which suited my needs.) By the time I called the sixth number, it was 3.27pm. What the hell I thought, just do it and regret it later. Six options again, number six of which was what I wanted!!!!! Yippee, hallelujah, yaba daba doo-and so on. I pressed the button for option six. I was informed by a voice that I was in a queue and would be "dealt with" as soon as a member of staffcould be bothered,became available. (I've always been a little concerned by the phrase "dealt with." My Mum always used to say "I'll deal with you when I get you home" and that always ended in tears.)
I waited, the "voice" returned and threatened me a dozen or more times. The music was Muzak, the adverts, for other HMRC services, were rubbish, and the time was getting on. Eventually the voice of an operative was heard. He was polite and sounded very chirpy, (Thought better of having a go at him as it wasn't really his fault was it?) We got into conversation and I passed his security test with flying colours. He was now in a position to deal with my reason for calling. I went though the process of telling him about my pension etc. The line went quiet for what I can only describe as a "Radio 4" pause-you know, when the announcer says its time for the six o'clock news and a pause of several seconds occurs before Big Ben strikes the first of it's six bongs. Seems to last for ages!! He then recovered consciousness or whatever, and politely informed me that nothing could be done about adjusting my tax settings until after the first pension payment had been made. He apologised that the letter telling me to call did not tell me when to do it. Despite requests from his office to the "other office" no changes had been made to the letter to reflect this. It was, by this time, 3.50pm. I had hardly sufficient breath to, as politely as possible, thank him for his advice.
Fifty minutes of my life totally wasted, I could have been doing something useful like having a snooze or popping down to the off license for a can of lager or even having a few minutes on my computer studying the Greek course that is leaving me wondering why the hades I started it in the first place!
I now have all that to go through again. Why? Because I threw the piece of paper with the telephone number on it in the paper recycling bin last evening and the dustmen came round this morning and took it away!!!!!!!!!
I am still struggling twenty four hours later, to "calm down Dear," as commanded by my wife. I am also having trouble deleting expletives before I utter them, at the very thought of traumas I suffered in an afternoon of great anxiety, dashed annoyance and ever climbing blood pressure.
For those of you still with me at this point, I will explain all. I received, last week, a letter telling me that I am due to start receiving my State Pension a little later this year. The letter bade me call the office from which the letter came, in order that I apply for it formally. I so did. I was dealt with politely, efficiently and in a very short time by a very polite and helpful member of staff. The pension, along with the derisory amount, were confirmed and bank details were given, ready for the first payment. I was assured that a letter would arrive after a few days, confirming all that was as said during our conversation. The letter duly arrived yesterday morning. The envelope was still warm as it hit the doormat having been borne lovingly and carefully in the hand of the postman.
This is where the story starts in earnest. I didn't open the letter until early afternoon. As promised, the derisory amount of my pension was confirmed-subject to being taxed unmercifully-as well as the date of first payment being made. The accompanying letter instructed that my next step was to inform the tax office of my new found wealth and the source, dates etc. No telephone number was given though. Not to worry, I thought. That's what the Internet is for I thought. It'll be on the HMRC website. (In the past I might have called 118 500 or similar, to ask for the number-not now though, have you seen how much the blighters charge?) Yes, hallelujah! a telephone number appeared. I rang the number a little before 3pm.
This first brush with the system gave me six options, none of which said it dealt with pension details. I chose an option at random. I was offered 4 more options. Again, no luck, so another option was chosen. This time I was given a different number to call. It's now 3.10pm.
Number dialled, six options, some of which were also available in the first call. No obvious option so random choice made. Five new options this time. Chose alternative number again. Called the number-same as first two calls-frustration setting in. New number etc, etc, etc.. By this time it was 3.18pm.
To cut a very long story short, I arrived at telephone number, number six. (I later calculated that I had in fact been offered 60 alternatives in the first five calls, none of which suited my needs.) By the time I called the sixth number, it was 3.27pm. What the hell I thought, just do it and regret it later. Six options again, number six of which was what I wanted!!!!! Yippee, hallelujah, yaba daba doo-and so on. I pressed the button for option six. I was informed by a voice that I was in a queue and would be "dealt with" as soon as a member of staff
I waited, the "voice" returned and threatened me a dozen or more times. The music was Muzak, the adverts, for other HMRC services, were rubbish, and the time was getting on. Eventually the voice of an operative was heard. He was polite and sounded very chirpy, (Thought better of having a go at him as it wasn't really his fault was it?) We got into conversation and I passed his security test with flying colours. He was now in a position to deal with my reason for calling. I went though the process of telling him about my pension etc. The line went quiet for what I can only describe as a "Radio 4" pause-you know, when the announcer says its time for the six o'clock news and a pause of several seconds occurs before Big Ben strikes the first of it's six bongs. Seems to last for ages!! He then recovered consciousness or whatever, and politely informed me that nothing could be done about adjusting my tax settings until after the first pension payment had been made. He apologised that the letter telling me to call did not tell me when to do it. Despite requests from his office to the "other office" no changes had been made to the letter to reflect this. It was, by this time, 3.50pm. I had hardly sufficient breath to, as politely as possible, thank him for his advice.
Fifty minutes of my life totally wasted, I could have been doing something useful like having a snooze or popping down to the off license for a can of lager or even having a few minutes on my computer studying the Greek course that is leaving me wondering why the hades I started it in the first place!
I now have all that to go through again. Why? Because I threw the piece of paper with the telephone number on it in the paper recycling bin last evening and the dustmen came round this morning and took it away!!!!!!!!!
No comments:
Post a Comment