And the other thing that happened today
Feb. 8th, 2010 06:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceGuess who turned up at 8.15 this morning...?
Yup. The insurance company's emergency service, who had sworn to be with me by 6.00pm last night. Two and a half days after I'd reported the problem, and into a normal working Monday when I could've got my own plumber to come round...
Not that that would have made much difference, I guess. The guy who came was, I confess, quite cute; and the boys liked him and what he did ("Who are you?" "What are you doing?" "Why are you ripping up the floor?" "Can I go down there?" "Can I go down there now?" "Now can I go down there?" etc ad infinitum, or until he left); and having lacked the resolution of mind to turn him away at the door, I listened and believed when he said that the problem was indeed all in the gutter above, water soaking through the wall and running in along the joists and so dripping down upon my head. Not that he could check this diagnosis, nor do anything about it even temporarily, because he didn't have any ladders in his van.
He thought the insurance company should pay for repairs, as it was causing actual drippage inside my actual house, and was very likely resultant from damage caused by all the snow etc. But it might just be a blocked & overflowing gutter, which we can fix on Saturday when a friend with ladders is very willing to bring them round. So my feeling is not to call the insurance company and have all the trouble of a claim'n'stuff until next week, after we've had a look ourselves; but I am very aware that I will seize any excuse at any time, not to make phone-calls to bureaucracies. I distrust my own motives.
Also, I do still intend to complain, because this is so very far from my notion of an emergency service. Two and a half days to respond, and then they did nothing. But, again, I don't want to do it by phone for all the obvious reasons. I hate to be such a wimp, but such a wimp I am. I write good letters, and I am crap at phone-calls.
Also, because I had been almost happy for a few hours there, with bright new ideas to play with, both my agents are now glooming at me about how bloody awful the market is just now, and my own sales figures worse than ever. Oh joy. I, um, need a new contract, guys, y'know...?
Yup. The insurance company's emergency service, who had sworn to be with me by 6.00pm last night. Two and a half days after I'd reported the problem, and into a normal working Monday when I could've got my own plumber to come round...
Not that that would have made much difference, I guess. The guy who came was, I confess, quite cute; and the boys liked him and what he did ("Who are you?" "What are you doing?" "Why are you ripping up the floor?" "Can I go down there?" "Can I go down there now?" "Now can I go down there?" etc ad infinitum, or until he left); and having lacked the resolution of mind to turn him away at the door, I listened and believed when he said that the problem was indeed all in the gutter above, water soaking through the wall and running in along the joists and so dripping down upon my head. Not that he could check this diagnosis, nor do anything about it even temporarily, because he didn't have any ladders in his van.
He thought the insurance company should pay for repairs, as it was causing actual drippage inside my actual house, and was very likely resultant from damage caused by all the snow etc. But it might just be a blocked & overflowing gutter, which we can fix on Saturday when a friend with ladders is very willing to bring them round. So my feeling is not to call the insurance company and have all the trouble of a claim'n'stuff until next week, after we've had a look ourselves; but I am very aware that I will seize any excuse at any time, not to make phone-calls to bureaucracies. I distrust my own motives.
Also, I do still intend to complain, because this is so very far from my notion of an emergency service. Two and a half days to respond, and then they did nothing. But, again, I don't want to do it by phone for all the obvious reasons. I hate to be such a wimp, but such a wimp I am. I write good letters, and I am crap at phone-calls.
Also, because I had been almost happy for a few hours there, with bright new ideas to play with, both my agents are now glooming at me about how bloody awful the market is just now, and my own sales figures worse than ever. Oh joy. I, um, need a new contract, guys, y'know...?