Life does have its funny twists and turns. Sometimes it is difficult to explain them, although I would be the first to quickly exclude the supernatural. Exactly on the day I received a nice little letter from nice Mr David Kay, the chief executive officer at Go, to explain his company’s recent name change and re-branding, I put in a desperate effort to make sure my telephone bills are addressed to my new home address.

Silly little things that can supposedly be taken care of by the newest secretarial recruit? Fair enough. But nine months on, I was still trying to achieve registration of that wondrous little piece of detail. Way back, I had filled in the necessary forms and followed those up with a series of calls to what was then still Maltacom, but the bills kept going to my old address.

When the latest bill again went to Birkirkara instead of Sliema, I decided to make contact again. After all, Maltacom was now Go. From blue it had gone all orangey almost overnight. So, I thought, this could be my last appeal over the phone. With a name like that, I thought somewhat cynically, things must have gone up one gear. Go, man, go, no?

I rang the freephone number and was soon being entertained with a hotchpotch of characterless music. When a voice finally came on I just blurted out my problem. Having waited nine months I thought (again!) a bit of authority in the voice would do no harm.

But sorry, sir, I was told, you are talking to the wrong person. I can only put you though to the right people. Please do, I replied very authoritatively. Another girl’s voice came on. I explained. She hesitated. I said I had done all this before at least on three other occasions during all of which I was assured the simple task of changing my mailing details for billing and addressing purposes would be carried out with the minimum of fuss.

More hesitation.

I think you should talk to the billing people, the second girl told me. OK, I said with somewhat less authority in the timbre of my voice, so please put me through to them. She did. When Billing came on, another Go-Go girl listened to me very patiently. Now my voice was cracking and I had almost started pleading. Then she told me: perhaps you should talk to Sales.

Over to Sales. My voice had now turned contralto. This time it was a man, as courteous as ever, who did not need to be a medium to deduce that here was an angry client. Anger undermines authority and it gets worse when you realise you are being pitied and almost patronised. I was quickly put through to another girl who said I could only make the necessary arrangements for a change of address by phoning Balzan.

Balzan? I asked incredulously. I did not bother to repeat my side of the story, that all this was déjà vu and I had already done all that was required of me to make sure the lunar-venture of a change of address was carried out. Yes, Balzan would help you with that problem I was assured. I asked for the number. It was very much the same one I had been ringing for the past 45 minutes.

I was now on the verge of a major mental collapse, but I could still muster a reasonable hint of authority. I asked for Balzan and got Balzan pretty easily. The problem was when I started to explain why I had phoned; there was an air of the absurd encircling both ends of the landline. But who told you to phone here, I was asked. Well, you did, I mean other Go people. I’ve lost count, I said in hara-kiri monotones. The girl at Balzan could now tell that here was a client who had had enough. She hesitated. Funny how many people hesitate at Go. She had obviously left the receiver on her desk while she consulted colleagues. Then she came back to suggest I phone the foreman. The foreman?

By now I had completely lost all sense of being. Please give me the number and I’ll phone the foreman, I said with the voice of a man who has just been castrated. She gave it to me. It was exactly the one I had been ringing since this comedy had all started. And ring it again I did.

“Hello, how may I help you” was again the sickening American corporate way of answering calls. Another girl. Thank heaven for little girls, I sang with a French accent. Then I asked for the foreman. Perplexity. Yes, but which foreman, I was asked. I said I didn’t know. Balzan told me to phone the foreman. Yes, the sweet voice told me as I started counting knives in the head, but we have many foremen, which one do you need to talk to?

I decided to act the imbecile. Not difficult, I know. I retold my story almost in verse. For some odd reason, it reminded me of “A toccata of Galuppi’s”, the great musical poem by Robert Browning we had studied at school for our first batch of GCEs. Silence. Possibly even a hint of amusement. Then I was politely told to go (such a good marketing catchword, that) to Birkirkara Exchange where I could ask for a change (caught the rhyme?) in the details. And don’t forget your ID card.

The good heavens would have it that in my letterbox that very same frustrating morning I found the new Go bill for account situation as at 19.08.2007 attached to a nice letter from nice Mr Kay. And nice Mr Kay told me: “We have re-branded with one intention in mind – YOU (my caps), the customer. We want to produce the services and products you need, under one brand – so as to make your life EASIER (again, my caps). Under the Go brand, we intend offering you the BEST (sorry, my caps) level of customer service for all your communication needs.”

There were of course nicer little bits in nice Mr Kay’s letter, but by the time I had read it I was already thinking of this column. Thank goodness for that. Inner peace returned with a bang, the sound of a popular Maltese swearword.

Footnote:

I doubt there is one single ex-national organisation that has either been fully or partially privatised which is, today, offering an adequate service to the people it used to belong to. The reason is not merely ideological but also professional. In its rush to please Brussels and other political cohorts, the government we have deserved for so many years simply chose to sell the nation’s silver on “Bargain Hunt”, ergo the state of things at this moment in time.