Surprise, surprise

Some recorded voices are full of warmth and a joy to hear. This one said her name was Åsa and she was phoning from the Stockholm morning newspaper, Dagens Nyheter, DN. She left what under the circumstances was a remarkably glowing message on my answering machine promising me that although for some reason they had not yet received payment of my bill, the paper would continue to be delivered as usual. She assured me I need have no worries about that, though they would naturally expect payment in the near future.

“Have a nice day,” concluded the amiable Åsa.

Why then did I not appreciate her bonhomie? Why indeed, did I feel as though the walls had given way, the ceiling had fallen on my head, the ground given way from under my feet? Answer: I happened to be twelve thousand miles away and had cancelled the paper more than three months earlier!

Recorded voice number two had none of Åsa’s affability. Instead, this was a stern lady from the landlord’s company wondering why my payment slips for the next quarter had been returned by the PO as undeliverable.

Åsa, I don’t want you to believe your good wishes are not appreciated, but I think you should know I had a thoroughly rotten day, with a succession of thoroughly rotten days to follow, overshadowed by visions of important mail being sent back to people, organisations, authorities and others who would be convinced I’d moved or done a bunk without leaving a new address; of payments, tax-return forms and vital information disappearing into the blue; of thieves lining up to break in, overjoyed to find an abode that was clearly not just empty, but had been so for a long time.

Had they done so, they would at least have performed one inestimable service. They would have forced a passage through the massive, well-nigh immovable, mountain of newsprint that defiantly confronted me when I finally returned, jet-lagged, not having slept for more than thirty-six hours and burdened by all the baggage the regulations would allow (plus some they wouldn’t but that never got weighed). Had the door not opened outwards, it would have had to be removed.

Åsa, I do not wish to burden your conscience with the anguish and frustrations that followed in the frantic damage-limitation efforts of the succeeding days and weeks, nor with the fact that I can never know the full extent of the harm caused. Nor yet am I willing to believe you were the one responsible for not only ignoring my missives about the great unnatural disaster that had darkened my doorstep and my life, accompanied by black-and-white proof of the original cancellation and confirmation of same signed by one of your colleagues. Neither can I possibly imagine it was you who decided to pour salt on the wounds by sending me a new invoice for all the papers I had cancelled.

BUT, pacific though I normally am, that Åsa was what diplomats, politicians and the history books call a casus belli. The gauntlet had been thrown down. Well, if it was warfare DN wanted, warfare it should have. It was for me to choose my weapons and my natural instinct was to go for the keyboard.
So Åsa, I filed a formal written complaint against your company with the Consumer Ombudsman, containing all the irrefutable evidence I had of written cancellation and signed confirmation, and sent a copy to your Managing Director.

Åsa, you may prefer the phone, but it is truly amazing what a fine weapon the keyboard can be, mightier even than the pen. When I entered my flat late one afternoon a couple of days afterwards there were two messages on my answerphone from the head of your department. I’d hardly had time to listen to them when she called again — full of sympathy and understanding.

We had a pleasant conversation Åsa, with just a little bargaining, during which the stakes were raised somewhat. As a result I now have a one-year free subscription to your publication, naturally with all previous ‘debts’ cancelled.
The question now Åsa is what do I do if I go away again before the year is up? Do I cancel a free subscription?? Hmm... I’ll have to think about that one.