We’re busy planning our repatriation to Blighty. We’re not actually leaving until June but it pays to start early. As my project guru, Liam has drawn up a long list of ‘must do’s’. Top of the agenda? Ditching our account with Digiturk, the national satellite TV broadcaster. We won’t miss it, not because it’s a bad service per se, but because more often than not we watch British TV through our VPN.
Liam rang Digiturk’s all singing, all dancing English Language call centre to cancel. The rude little runt on the end of the line was having none of it. Liam was given a cock and bull story about ‘applying’ to close our account by fax to Istanbul. We would need to provide another photocopy of my passport together with a notarised copy of my grandmother’s bra size. ‘You want to complain? Tough. My manager doesn’t speak English.’ Was the rude little runt having a bad day? Maybe he was fed up dealing with rude little emigreys. Liam rang a second time – different rude little runt, same rude little script. Digiturk’s tone deaf one-stop shop for expats seems to have developed two left feet. Liam kept his cool and thanked the brick wall for his help. There’s no point losing your rag with the hired help.
Eventually, we managed to close the account via an exchange of heated emails written in English and translated into Googled Turkish. Liam kept the message simple ‘I am moving the England. I am cancelling my service. You can’t stop me.’ It worked. Tick. Next?
