We needed a doorbell.
Visitors to our door are a rarity - thankfully - and we'd managed for two years without one. However, a combination of our taking well-deserved long lie-ins and an increased rate of Amazon purchases has, more frequently, left our poor postman hammering unheard on our front door. He's a good man is our postman and we have now exchanged a sufficient number of friendly greetings to have established that we definitely live here and he is definitely our postman. He even signed for a 'signed for' delivery when we were dead to the world. Like I said, a good man.
Other visitors to our door include delivery drivers who could just turn up at any time. And, of course, we have our holiday cottage next door. Perhaps this is the most important reason to install a doorbell - at least on a par with Postie. Guests seeking advice for restaurants, attractions, railway timetables and just to say cheerio on their departure have sometimes also gone unheard as they rap on our front door.
So, a doorbell was required, necessitating a trip to B&Q.
You can pay what you like for a doorbell, you know. Oh, yes. £75, if you like, just to let you know that someone is demanding that you stop what you're doing and pay them some attention on your doorstep. £10 was our limit, though, and we didn't want to get involved in any unsightly and complicated wiring. Fortunately, B&Q sells just such a doorbell - wireless and 2p shy of our £10 limit - hoorah! A purchase was made and, on returning home, excited agitation ensued as the doorbell was released from its packaging.
It's not a complicated device. Insert some batteries and press the 'L' for 'learn' button then, within 30 seconds, press the doorbell and Robert is your father's brother.
It didn't work.
Multiple efforts and button pressings could not connect the bell push to the chimer. Groan. A return trip to B&Q - a mere 20 miles distant - was pencilled in for Wednesday morning.
On this particular Wednesday morning, B&Q appeared to be undertaking a sponsored Help The Aged event as, at every desk, till and corner a younger person seemed to be patronising en elderly person. They'd even dressed them up in B&Q uniforms, presumably so that customers would not be entirely freaked out by an octogenarian asking them if they needed any help!
Confidently, I approached the Customer Service Desk at which an elderly gentleman was nervously prodding at a screen whilst a middle-aged woman gave direction as though speaking to a 6-year-old. I explained, in kindergarten terms, the problem with the doorbell. This seemed to confuse both of them so I simply stated that '...it doesn't work'. Finally getting to the nub of the problem, the master/pupil combo proceeded - slowly - to sort out a refund. I didn't want a refund, I said. I would like to exchange it for one that works.
A puzzled look spread across both faces. They couldn't do an 'exchange', they said, as though I'd asked them if the gardening department was the right location to board the next flight to Mars. They would have to give me a credit note, obviously, and I would then have to retrieve another doorbell and take it to the till. I calculated the risk of both of them turning to jelly and ending in a messy heap on the floor with my next question, but then decided that I didn't really care... Could the doorbell be tested in the store? I left unsaid, 'so that I don't have to undergo another 40-mile round trip and put myself through this exchange of views again'.
Colin could do it. Who's Colin, I asked, as not being a frequent visitor to B&Q, I hadn't yet familiarised myself with the names of all the employees. He's the electrician. Oh, good. Sounds like he could manage to put a few batteries in a doorbell, then. Where might I find Colin? He'll be in the aisle with the doorbells in. Fine. Thank you very much.
I found Colin and the conversation went something like this:
"Are you Colin?"
"I am the electrician."
"Ah. Are you the electrician and Colin?"
"Yes. I am Colin, the electrician."
"Oh, good. I wonder if you could help me..."
He looked wary. I showed him the credit note for the doorbell.
"I have just returned a doorbell that doesn't work. Could you test one for me?"
"Oh no. I can't do that."
"You can't do that? But you're an electrician."
"No. I mean it's not our policy."
"Policy? You have a policy that precludes you from testing doorbells?"
"Yes."
"Why's that then?" I smiled. A nice, friendly smile. Clearly I needed to win Colin over.
"Well, it would mean we have to open the packaging."
You can't get much past Colin.
"Yes....?"
"Well, then the packaging would be damaged. We wouldn't be able to sell it."
I took a deep breath.
"I tell you what, Colin," another winning smile, "if you open the packaging and it works, I'll take it away with me. If you open the packaging and it doesn't work, well, then you don't want it, do you? Because, then, some other customer will be put to the trouble of bringing it back again..."
It took a while. You could almost hear the synapses popping into life. He glanced to the floor. He paused there for a moment. He looked up. The penny had dropped.
"Okay, then."
We strode, purposefully, to the doorbell shelving. I pointed out the doorbell in question. Colin remarked that quite a few of these had been brought back. I stifled the urge to clatter him about the head with said doorbell. Colin then proceeded to blame the customers for not understanding the instructions. Now, I'm no electrician, but I reckoned that pressing two buttons no longer than 30 seconds apart would be within the capabilities of the large majority of B&Q customers. Nevertheless, I felt I had been accused of idiocy by Colin the Electrician and felt the need to justify returning the doorbell by explaining that I had tried to get it to work in every way that is possible to press two buttons. He was unimpressed.
Colin had located and opened a pack of 4 AA batteries, inserted 3 of them into the chimer, pressed two buttons and the doorbell worked. Thank God for Colin and his expertise. Satisfied that the doorbell worked and thankful that B&Q had the foresight to employ such an expert, I thanked Colin and proceeded to gather up the doorbell.
"Do you want to leave the batteries in?" Colin asked.
With a deliberately confused look, I said "Will I have to pay for them?"
"Oh yes." Colin said.
"But I've got batteries at home. I don't need batteries."
"Well, I told you. If we have to open the packaging, you'll have to pay for it."
"For the batteries? I would have thought that, as an electrician Colin, you might have had a few batteries lying around to test things with."
He shrugged. "You'll have to pay for them." He repeated, apathetically.
I was a little bit annoyed. B&Q had sold me a duff item. It didn't work. I'd had to bring it back, obtain a credit note and persuade Colin to go against company policy. All to achieve the goal of my first visit - to buy a 10-quid doorbell. And now, it seemed, I had to purchase 4 batteries against my will!
I'll be honest with you. I was sorely tempted to dump them on a shelf somewhere and approach the till sans batteries. But then, a ludicrously escalating series of events ending up with me in a police cell ran rapidly through my mind and I decided to just go to the till.
Another OAP was being overseen by a young lass as he slowly got things wrong with the customer in front of me. Still, I eyed the shelving next to the till and debated dumping the batteries there. But that would mean removing them from the chimer. Not enough time and too many eyes.
It was my turn. I dumped the lot at the till counter. Doorbell in its broken packaging. Single battery in an opened 4-pack. Till receipts and a credit note. The OAP nearly had a fit.
"What's going on here?" he uttered, looking utterly perplexed. Presumably he'd managed to stagger towards coping with a 'normal' transaction and might even have been feeling somewhat proud of himself. Now, the Spaniard was truly in the works.
The young lass looked at me for an explanation. I re-told the saga of Colin the electrician and my wireless doorbell.
"If you don't want the batteries, you don't have to have them." She said, matter-of-factly.
"Oh. Great. Thanks very much." I said. I removed the three batteries from the doorbell and the young lady put them to one side. The transaction was painstakingly undertaken by the OAP under the supervision of the lovely lass and I departed with another "Thanks very much." to the now smiling young lady of inestimable worth.
Justice had been served. But, hang on. I should not be feeling relief and gratitude at not having to pay for batteries I didn't want! I'm the customer! I'm always right! Colin is a moron!
On the drive home, I wondered how many times Colin the electrician had used the phrase 'against company policy' and how many times customers had left B&Q with items they didn't want. The tail seems to be wagging the dog, here. Regardless of whether or not B&Q has sold you an item that is worthless, it would seem to be your fault for being stupid enough to buy it in the first place. And, should you dare to return an item that is not fit for purpose, it is probably your fault for not being able to follow simple instructions. And, God forbid that you should want to ensure that an item is fit for purpose before you leave the store with it! What were you thinking??
B&Q customer service - as unhelpful as possible so that you feel grateful for a glimmer of humanity.
