I mentioned recently that I was forced into an internet provision change. I used to get the signal from my BT phone line, but my broadband came from a company called Plusnet. The change to digital from analogue meant that I had to have both from the same supplier, and the easiest option was to use BT.
And so I made the phone call, all fifty four minutes of it because there was a lot to change and set up. One of the things the customer service advisor asked me was whether I wanted an engineer’s visit to help set up the new equipment. I knew what was involved and that it was fairly simple, but it occurred to me that if there was any unforeseen problem, having an engineer to hand would be useful. I said as much to the advisor, she agreed, and so I accepted her offer.
My email inbox and phone began to be inundated with emails and texts about this, that, the other, and the price of baked beans at Sainsbury’s. One thing they didn’t mention was the date and time of the engineer’s visit, and so I called again (and began to mentally consider how easy it would be to change my name by deed poll to Job. I expect half the population have done so by now, courtesy of modern communication systems.) The woman I eventually spoke to said that no such arrangement had been made. ‘You have to do it yourself,’ she said, and resistance was evidently useless.
And so the equipment was delivered and I made the attempt to steel myself for the big day, which was today. I told myself that it would all be very easy and there was nothing to worry about. Most of it I’d done before when my old router went wonky and I had to have a new, more complex, one. I re-acquainted myself with which bits went where in the old router and whether the newly added phone port was clearly defined, and opened the box containing the new one.
There was something missing! (Have another exclamation mark.) The box contained the hub (which black where the old one had been white, but I coped with that shock with remarkable ease), a power cable and transformer, and a broadband cable. But there was no Ethernet cable. ‘So how does the hub communicate with the computer?’ I asked myself. ‘Could I use the one I’ve already got, or will it be different as other things are?’ A mild sense of panic set in and so I called BT. Just as the recorded voice was saying ‘current wait times are around seven minutes’ there was a knock at the door.
I assumed it was a contractor I’ve been awaiting for ages to fix an issue on the roof and I was all set to send him on his merry way. ‘I’m on the bloody phone and I can’t waste time with you at the moment, so bog off.’ Or something along those lines. I looked through the window to see a man looking vaguely Chinese and wearing a grey baseball cap, on which was printed in large letters: BT.
I opened the door. ‘I’m from BT,’ he began, ‘come to help you set up your new router.’ ‘But they told me I couldn’t have an engineer,’ I protested. ‘Well, I was in the area so I thought I’d call and make sure everything’s OK.’ I cordially invited him in – no, not cordially; enthusiastically. (I rarely invite people in, and almost never enthusiastically. I like my private space to stay that way.)
And now the easy bit: He set everything up and it worked fine, and he did use the old Ethernet cable without a second thought. So that was that.
‘Are you Chinese?’ I asked him. ‘No, from Nepal.’ ‘Nepal? How interesting. Were ever a Ghurkha?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘One of those invited to move over here in recognition of your services to the British?’ ‘Yes.’
Well now, I shook his hand (enthusiastically.) You see, notwithstanding my anti-war sensibilities, the Ghurkhas are legendary over here in Britain. I was told as a kid: ‘Great friends of ours, the Ghurkhas. Best soldiers on earth and always faithful to we British.’ And here I am meeting one for the first time in my life, and who turns up to solve my problem literally in the nick of time and at his own volition. If ever one of the goddesses of South Asia was smiling on me, today was the day.
And that’s today’s story. And it’s all true.
Added Later:
I forgot to mention that when the man from Nepal was leaving I had one final question to ask him:
'Have you ever seen a Yeti?'
He frowned, moved his head around a little, mumbled something incomprehensible. and then walked away. I shall forever wonder whether that was a yes, a no, or a 'why did I ever knock on this door?'
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