Blimey, you would never guess what happened to me yesterday? Utopia garnished with chocolate peanuts; that's what.
To give you a bit of background, when I first moved to the Oxfordshire countryside from London, I quickly realised (to my absolute horror) that my new village was too remote for Dominos Pizza home delivery. I panicked and was all like, "shit! what the blazes am I going to eat?" and then I ran around the house flapping aimlessly for several hours before deciding that I needed to come up with a plan. And I did.
So, no more nightly home-delivery pizzas .......... no worries I thought to myself, and I fashioned a cunning plan to buy ready-meals from the local (as in 8 miles away) supermarket. Yep, drastic measures were needed in order to avoid spending too much time in the desolate wasteland that I call my kitchen.
The ready-meal strategy worked well for a while - in that it had kept me sustained for the two-and-a-bit years that I had lived in Oxford, but last night I reached terminal boredom with the limited range, and decided to do a bit of rude Internet surfing to distract myself.
Nooooo, I don't mean 'Redtube' before you jump to conclusions - that is just filth (so I have been told). Being the sad git that I am, I decided to surf the Dominos Pizza website and lament 'pizza's past'. The quirky 'Dominos Pizza website' demands that you type in your postcode (ZIP code) before you can view the menu. So I did just that and then a screen appeared saying; 'Your postcode is eligible for home-delivery'.
WTF! It appeared as though Dominos pizza had increased their home-delivery catchment area in response to the recession! HUZZAR AND DOUBLE HUZZAR!
I immediately decided to order a pizza (for scientific reasons you understand) to test whether or not Forest Hill was truly in the catchment area. And as each stage of the order progressed, I started shaking like a shitting dog in anticipation.Then BAM! I received a screen saying that my order had been dispatched and would be delivered within 45 minutes.
Aaaah, if only everything had continued in such an easy fashion ......... Yes Dominos do deliver to Forest Hill, but it took FIVE phonecalls from the delivery man before he managed to find my house. It didn't help that he hardly spoke any English at all, even though he works in England (don't get me started on this - companies who position people who can't speak English in customer-facing positions deserve to lose... well custom). But as they say, beggars can't be choosers.
To give you an idea of our conversation it was:
Delivery Man: Ring.. Ring..... "Hewo, this is pitza man. I try to find your house and I am at bus station near Sandhills. Where your house?"
Me: "I live in Forest Hill not Sandhills."
Delivery Man: "Where Forest Hill? How I drive there?"
Me: "Do you have a Sat Nav?"
Delivery Man: "Yeh, got Sat Nav."
Me: "Ok, my postcode is OX33 1EH."
Then the phone rang again twenty minutes later and it was the same chap.
Delivery Man: "I no can find Forest Hill."
Me: "Where are you?"
Delivery Man: "I still at Bus Station in Sandhills."
Me: "You haven't bloody moved since I last spoke to you, why didn't you use your Sat Nav?"
Delivery Man: "Sat Nav no work."
Me: "Why didn't you say?"
Delivery Man: "You no ask."
Bloody Nora, what a drongo.
Needless to say, I almost got irate, and much schenanigans ensued resulting in my pizza turned up an hour late and was bloody cold. But hell, I was just happy as a pig-in-shit to savour a 'Hot and Spicy' pizza after such a hiatus! In fact, I am positively joyous!
P.S. Have you had any problems caused by language differences or has anything as joyous happened in your life recently?
Annie (Lady M) x
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