Duchess has posted a very funny tale about her experience of waiting for the Gas company to deliver and wire up a cooker (that’s a stove for our North American friends). It brought back such memories of my eleven years working with the Dublin Gas Company—which qualify me, by the way, to confirm that every word Duchess wrote and the guys from Monty Python acted out, are gospel truth.
I started working with the Gas Company as PA to the Chief Executive, who had been brought in from outside to try and drag the company, kicking and screaming, into the 20th century. It was a condition of my appointment that I was not allowed to join one of the company’s unions, because I would skew their productivity payout or something. Nothing could have suited me more; while it meant I would not get paid for overtime, it also meant that some tinpot little dictator of shop steward could not tell me when and if I could work. Don’t get me wrong; on the whole, I think unions are a good thing, especially when a union rep is all that stands between a conscientious employee and a bullying middle manager or supervisor. But the Gas Company unions were a special case.
First of all, there were thirteen of them. Seriously, thirteen unions for one company employing around 1,200 people. There was the major union, to which about 75% of the employees belonged; another middling-sized one, which was always trying to poach members from the big guy. Then there were the other eleven, the so-called craft unions, which represented the electricians and plumbers and carpenters—anybody who was not a gas fitter or a clerical worker. Some of these unions had only five or six members, and they were the most bolshie of the lot. If anyone above the rank of assistant to the assistant of an assistant supervisor looked sideways at one of them, a picket would be thrown up and the whole place would go out on strike. I nearly caused a general strike myself when someone passed by my office and saw me standing on a chair to screw in a light bulb. Apparently that was the sacred duty of one of the craft union members. Actually that would be two members—one to hold the ladder and another to screw in the bulb. Where do you think the “how many [blanks] to screw in a lightbulb” jokes came from?
Over the course of time, I moved on from my job as PA, first to become Press Officer, and then, just to get away from the arse for whom I worked, as Consumer Service Manager. Since the Gas Company was in the throes of switching over from towns gas to natural gas at the time, it would be, our public relations consultant said as he tried to talk me out of taking the job, like working as deck-chair attendant on the Titanic. He was wrong; iceberg wrangler on the Titanic would have been a doddle compared to my new job. You would not believe the abuse I and my poor secretary had to take, day after day, week after week, as the conversion slowly wound on its way. There were sacks full of letters, screaming phone calls, and people turning up in person, foaming at the mouth with rage.
In the end, we survived, as did the Gas Company—but only just. The company ended up being nationalized and I took a rich redundancy package which eventually paid my way to Canada. But thereby hangs another tale. Out of all the sturm und drang of my brief sojourn in the trenches, I took away with me one, glorious letter that I received from an irate gas consumer—one who actually had a sense of humour. I have it still and would like to share it with you. It reads thus:
Dear Ms Ryan: It is now some time since I had a series of quite pleasant conversations with your secretary. I am the chap who originally wrote to you objecting to the literary standards of your company’s correspondence, incidentally. The upshot of this has been that I am no longer bothered by occasional letters from New Dublin Gas (In Receivership) telling me that the part(s) needed to repair my heater which was, in fact, banjaxed by the men who were attempting to convert it (book in one hand and scimitar in the other, like the muslims of old), that these parts were temporarily out of stock and every effort was being made to expedite their delivery – in short I haven’t heard from you all in a long time. Are you all right?
Was it something I said? Are you trying to find or invent a word indicating a longer time than ‘temporarily’ or a somewhat more leisurely process than ‘expedite’? Is everyone off on an adult literacy course?
My jury-rigged heater watches with apprehension as the evenings grow longer and the howling of the first timber wolves of autumn is heard on the evening air. Will it be able to cope with the coming winter? Will a kind man from New Dublin Gas (In Receivership) ever arrive, like sleeping beauty’s prince, to fill the aching hole in its entrails with a new thermostat? And what of Ms Tessa Ryan – has she been overwhelmed by the sheer weight of her responsibility (a job combining the logistics of Horatio on the Bridge with the corporate image of a herpes virus)? Do let us know! My heater and I are eagerly awaiting the next episode. It’s so much cheaper than renting a TV.
Best wishes.
You may bet your bippy that he had a brand, spanking-new heater on his doorstep in the shake of a duck’s tail! At absolutely no cost to him.
Oh Tessa, this made me laugh so hard! This was the best letter ever! That was hilarious. And what of Ms Tessa Ryan? How’d everything go today?
Very, funny letter ; do you think he might be willing to marry me? (I’m always looking for funny men …) Somewhat alarming to know someone actually from the Gas Board.
Thanks for the link!
That was rich! Made my mundane evening end with a laugh and the wish to know more about the man who wrote this gem. Glad you kept it and shared it with us. Maybe you could find him and introduce him to Duchess. I think that would be a match made in heaven.
Oh Gawd, Tessa, I laughed and laughed. I used to work for the C.I.E. there’s a book there.
You brought so many memories back!!
XO
WWW
Who would ever have dreamed that the gas board could produce so much merriment?
Very funny! I loved that post by the Duchess!
That letter is indeed a keeper. I should start writing letters like that to the people who piss me off…and ‘banjaxed’ is my new favourite word!
Corporate image of a herpes virus! LOL Love it!
That’s almost enough to make customer service a worth while endeavor. It reminds me of this classic:
http://tinyurl.com/dgaf66
Hi, Tessa,
I am trying to drum up some support for a campaign my daughter is running to mark International Women’s Day this Sunday. She has been focussing on violence against women and the link to HIV Aids. Sorry to introduce such a subject into the Merry Gas Board topic. But please visit my blog in the next day or two to find out about the campaign.