Regular readers of this column might remember the York School of Charm. For those who are less regular (or who suffer from Middle Aged Brain), this notable training college produces all those ‘anything is too much trouble’ staff whom we encounter when we’re trying to do something outlandish and completely unreasonable like post a parcel at a Post Office or buy a train ticket at the station.
However, there is another local educational
establishment which turns out an entirely different type of person: the York
School of Compittance Compatence Competulants
Competence (YSCom, for short). The aim of this particular institution is,
clearly, to turn out wholly pleasant and agreeable graduates specially trained
to ensure that we spend vast tracts of our day unscrambling their cluelessness.
In a former life, I was a university external examiner, so I am well qualified to pass judgement on our most venerable academic institutions and the types of graduate they churn out.
And so it is that I decide to try to collect a prescription by way of testing out the calibre of the YSCom graduates.
You’d almost be tempted to think that regular prescriptions are a straightforward matter. You tick a box saying ‘the same next month, please’, and duly return the following month to retrieve said item(s).
Oh no you don’t. Or not if you visit a certain Pharmacy Which Must Not Be Named (but which is called Shoes, or some such). Here, you delve into your little prescription parcel – only to find that a crucial item is missing. “It’s not a problem”, the very cheerful assistant says. But it is, I think. I also draw her attention to the fact that they have included a prescription which I didn’t order. If only it had been mind-altering drugs, I might have been tempted to keep it. As it was, I don’t suffer from hayfever, so I returned it.
YSCom Verdict: First Class Honours
I decide to take my prescription to an independent pharmacist which also must not be named, but which you might find if you happen to be walking down Gillygate. Here, I explain about the muddle in the Unnamed Pharmacy. “Oh, that happened to me,” says another lady in the queue. “And me”, pipes up another. It was my own personal #metoo moment, without any of the sexual harassment.
The following day, I returned to collect my prescription. It was all present and correct, with nary a hayfever tablet in sight. Very disappointing.
YSCom Verdict: Could Try Harder.
Happily, the reach of the YSCom extends further afield. Or so I find when I put a call centre to the test.
I have a faulty washing machine. It is insured. I pay every month to insure it.
Oh no I don’t. Or maybe I do. They’re not sure. Actually, they’re not sure if I exist at all. Certainly not at my address. And that policy number – the one I’m reading straight off their letter – doesn’t exist either. Except that it might do. They’ll have to ring me back.
Needless to say, they don’t ring me back. Once I have fortified myself with several cups of coffee, I try them again. This time the nice girl tells me that I do exist, and so does my insurance policy. Only they’ve registered it all to a different address.
I now need to ring Barclays, but as they are the current holders of A* First Class, Summa Cum Laude, Best in Show, World Cup Honours in Competence, I decide I can’t face it and have another cup of coffee instead.
YSCom Verdict: A Scraped First
Feeling slightly tired of all this external examining, I decide to pay a visit to Style Flooring of York in Heworth for my Farrow and Ball fix.
I look at the display. At first sight, it seems quite small. The very pleasing thought crosses my mind that I might have cycled right to the other side of York for no reason at all.
“I don’t suppose you have any Shadow White wall paint?” I say hopefully.
“Oh, that’s Number 282. You presumably want Estate Emulsion? I’ll fetch it now for you,” says the gentleman in charge.
This is highly disappointing. He needs a further test. “I also need some Downpipe, I mean Dropcloth,” I say (because I, unlike everyone else, am not in the slightest bit incompetent, and never make mistakes of any description).
“Which one would you like? We have both. Downpipe is Number 26, and Dropcloth is Number 283. And there’s ten percent off all Farrow paint this month.”
This just isn’t good enough. And said gentleman did not improve matters by correctly advising me not to use Dead Flat paint on bookcases when I asked for his opinion. Moreover, I refuse to be bribed by a couple of free carpet samples to kneel on while weeding the garden. Has nobody ever told him that bribery and corruption are almost as bad as plagiarism in University circles – never mind having knowledge and being able to apply it?
YSCom Verdict: Catastrophic Fail. Don’t even think about resitting.
Add a comment