Give Her Credit

I wouldn't normally encourage my off-spring to take out a credit card, but on the day Heather's laptop decided to expire in a multi-virused ridden, slow-with-old-age kind of way, she got an offer from her bank for a card with 0% interest for a year. What I would regard as a 'happy co-incidence'. And after a quick foray into Curry's, who wanted her to take out a loan for two years at something ridiculous like 317%, I suggested she should apply for the card and make the most of the interest-free loan.

I was a responsible parent; I sat her down and explained how credit cards work (I was under the misapprehension that all schools did this kind of thing these days, but clearly not), and that if, like me, she used it as cash and paid off the balance every month, then it could be a 'very useful thing indeed.' For example, if we ever go away, I don't worry that I might forget to take something with me like dental floss or a decent book to read because as long as I have my credit card I can make purchases. And I get Tezzco points as well, which is good as I no longer shop there so anything I get free from them (like magazine subscriptions) I feel is a blow back for the small person against the evil global conglomerate.

So the card was duly applied for. The letter came informing Heather of her successful application and to return a form agreeing to sign her soul away to the Devil. Then the PIN arrived and eventually the card, which was thusly activated, and so yesterday off went Heather on a laptop buying expedition.

There was a little interwebbly research prior to the expedition to ascertain which would be a good buy amongst the gazillion models there are out there in techno-world. In the end, I think the words 'smooth and shiny' headed the list of 'important features.' Andy's input was 'get as big a memory as you can afford,' the implication being that Heather downloads a load of rubbish and stores a load of photos etc and the laptop would need all the help it could get.

I received a text informing me of the successful selection of a laptop and assorted accoutrements. Half an hour later, a further text arrived informing of how stupid Curry's and her bank were, that the whole transaction was going 'T*ts up,' and as soon as she got home, she was going to cut the stupid credit card into tiny pieces. But she wouldn't be home until she had ensured herself of a successful outcome to the debacle (whatever forn that debacle was taking; I would be filled in later when her blood pressure had returned to normal) i.e she wasn't leaving Curry's until they'd handed over her laptop.

That's my girl, I thought. You sort 'em out!

A highly-strung and irked Heather arrived home a good hour later, carrying a large bag. Apparently, the sales assistant in Curry's was an idiot who didn't know how to operate the till. And when the transaction didn't go through immediately, in a split second, instead of waiting a moment, he tried to cancel the transaction to start again, and whilst her bank had sent the money, the sales assistant had effectively told them Curry's didn't want it, and it was floating in the ether in some third-party transaction bay. An authorisation code was needed to complete the purchase, but in the meantime the sales assistant had swiped the card twice more and the ensuing transactions were being rejected because the bank was saying Heather was going over her credit limit.

Are you keeping up?

So Heather spent an hour and a half running between Curry's and her bank trying to sort things out. Firstly, the 'direct line phone' in the bank which she used to contact the credit card section didn't have a 'zero' on its keypad, so when the automated voice asked her to enter her card number, she couldn't because it contained a few 'zero's'.
'What did you do?' I said.
'I kept bashing the '10' button until I was put through to a real person,' said Heather. 'I mean, what kind of idiot company has a '10' on their telephone key-pad?'

Anyway, the bank man confirmed the initial payment had gone, that all was well their end. Curry's refused to allow Heather to take the laptop because, as far as they were concerned, they hadn't received payment. Heather was reaching screeching pitch and saying things like 'So where does that leave me, eh? No laptop and several hundred pounds of my money lost in your stupid system somewhere.' The bank gave Heather an authorisation code for the sales person at Curry's to use. The sales person at Curry's looked at her blankly because he didn't know what to do with the authorisation code, so he scuttled off to consult the manager, who appeared briefly to apologise for the cock-up, but he was sure it would be sorted soon because 'Adrian' was dealing with it.

'Well, clearly it won't,' said Heather, 'because Adrian doesn't know what to do with the authorisation code and if Adrian hadn't been so trigger happy with the till in the first place, this wouldn't have happened.'

Eventually, Heather commandeered the phone behind the counter in Curry's and forced Curry's and her bank to talk to each other whilst she sighed and rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

And so it was sorted. Amen.

The laptop is very nice. Heather is happy because she can now resume her hectic on-line social life, and I am happy that I have a daughter who will not be beaten the face of adversity and can keep her head when bankers and vendors are losing theirs.

And if there is anyone in Theatre Land reading this, who wants a well-trained theatre graduate with enormous experience in stage management, sound and lighting tech-ing and production, then Heather's your girl because if you want something doing, and doing well, she will do it. And then some.