Mostly Harmless

Attack of The Phones

Disclaimer

My desk here in Lake Guillemont is a haven of tranquillity. It is kitted out with a special shelf 23 OUs (O'Reilly Units) long on which I have placed packets of tea from every corner of the globe. It's the sort of place where a bloke can unwind on a Monday after an exhausting weekend assembling flatpack for in-laws. Although it is a hotdesk I have discovered it is even feasible to doze off at it for short intervals - provided I have taken the precaution of attaching chair to desk with a long bike padlock. I have also erected a nameplate with a fictitious name on it, which is a good diversionary tactic although perhaps not strictly ISO 9000.

So you have a pretty good idea now of the kind of restful ambiance I am enjoying this Monday after a weekend spent luring a mouse from an extensive dwelling made out of fibreglass insulation and catfood (our cat is more of a watcher than a doer) and positioned in a quiet cul-de-sac with good access to local amenities behind our cooker. And you will empathize strongly with the sense of nervous collapse which steals over me when the phone unexpectedly rings and on answering it I hear:

- Hi, my name is George and I'm calling from TETNEF Mobile. How are you this morning?
- Er...
- Do you presently own a mobile phone sir?
- Um... yes, NO!
- You don't own a mobile phone?
- No, yeah I do.
- And can you tell me who supplies your network and how long the contract has to run?

Keep him talking! Suddenly I have snapped awake and am pounding the keyboard and sliding the mouse around as if I were trying to catch the one behind the cooker again. I have to nail this guy. TETNEF? Who the hell is TETNEF Mobile? And how are they ringing me at work? Several web queries are dispatched and I begin sampling the phone input.

- Er, not sure who supplies the network. How do I find out?
- (imperceptible sigh) Is the phone switched on sir?
- No, hang on, I'll just do it. Who did you say you were with?
- TETNEF Mobile! You may not have heard of us before but I am in a position to offer you some very attractive terms...

A good 5 seconds. I am already uploading the sound sample to http://oohprofhiggins.com for regional processing, drumming my fingers and trying to stall George. Oohprofhiggins comes back with a map reference in Bhutan. Bhutan?! I launch another search window for telesales offices in Bhutan and yet another one for Bhutanese translation sites. At the same time a sense of melancholy begins to pervade my mind. A certain not atypical western point of view reserves a little sunny corner for Bhutan. When we're feeling cowed by the rise of technology, when every high street seems identical to every other one - and identically tawdry - and when Handel's setting of Zadok The Priest is piped over an advert for ferries; then we comfort ourselves with the thought "Well, there's always Bhutan..." And now, according to Prof Higgins, the disease has spread even there.

Sure enough, my search for telesales outfits in Bhutan has returned several addresses - and one of them is right in the cross hairs of the Higgins gridref. Gotcha! Better hope he's a local employee. I fire up SatNavSniffer given me as a clandestine quid-pro-quo by someone in the haulage business and hunt for delivery vans manoeuvering in the vicinity. Where there are IT offices there are always IT office fitters.

Meanwhile George is delivering rapid fire features of multiple mix-and-match TETNEF tailorable tariff options and I am countering with a list of the exotic benefits of some imaginary phone company I have dreamed up on the spur of the moment. Make him work for that bonus.

Yes! A lorry not two miles away and it's even toting an onboard camera. I squirrel down the SatNav uplink and assume control of the puny device. The Bhutanese translation site has no trouble with the command "Next right" and soon the necessary unicode is winging its way to the cab. The camera is not bad. I'm getting about one frame every five seconds. It's drizzly but otherwise a bright evening in that part of Bhutan. The lorry pulls up facing the windowed side of an office block. It looks very new - perhaps I should have tried hacking into the office surveillance system instead of commandeering this truck. I send a translation of "Vehicle malfunction detected. Please exit cab and await assistance". Time to bring George in on this little game.

- George, I hear it's rainy today where you are. D'you think it'll clear up soon?

Instinctively he looks out of the window and I have him on camera. Third floor up, fifth window along.

- Nice tie George. Is that blue bit the company logo?
- What is this...?
- Take a look at the parking lot. See the man standing by the truck?
- Yes...?
- He works for me George. He knows who you are. If you ever, ever , ring this number again he'll pay you a visit. Do you understand?
- He's visiting me tonight actually. He's my brother.

The sense of something beautifully crafted coming hopelessly unravelled... George has turned back to his screen and is peering at something closely. 'You need a haircut.' he says 'And stop picking your nose!'

Garrrgh! The office surveillance system! George rings off abruptly and I bruise my hand on my desk.

Posted at 11:15PM Dec 08, 2006 by John Alderson in Lake Guillemont  |  Comments[1]