Getting things done in Abu Dhabi, UAE

On returning from the Vet's this morning, Moose (the cat) and I entered the roundabout at Shakbout and Delma Streets.

We (Moose and I) were in the middle lane of the three and indicating to turn left. There was a silver Camry in the inside lane also waiting but as they were to my left, I couldn't see any indicators.

In a break in the traffic, my feline companion and I (still indicating) entered the intersection and proceeded - while staying in our lane - to follow the roundabout around to the left.

The Camry decided to accelerate hard and *almost* t- boned me as I was turning, as it was trying to go straight, from the inside lane.
Continues

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Alright alright already... the complaint post, in edited form - enjoy

It’s a funny place this, although for long time readers this is a concept I bring up often. The latest thing to catch my eye won’t make me popular (as I mentioned in yesterday’s post) but given that I often go week to week speaking only to shop attendants, it’s safe to assume the fallout won’t affect my dance card too dramatically: so… on with the show.

This post is about personal interactions… and complaints… because it seems that even if some folk found themselves in the best place in the world, they still couldn't help but bitch.

Interestingly the people I hear complain the loudest all come from one nation, or maybe I am just lucky enough to see them at a bad time of their day - Consistently.

It’s not the complaining specifically that I find so interesting, (this blog is full of observations on life here that I find funny, quaint and COULD be construed as complaining). I guess it’s the manner in which the complaint is often made. Or if not complaining directly, there is often a meanness of superior position that is injected into the transaction, thereby creating a negative and impossible situation - if only for a moment.

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I can't pare the the promised post down any more.

Well, I could, but what is the point of an observation when I can't poke a bit of fun at it along the way.

So I'm going to leave the post on: 'Complaints, and the nationality that makes the most' for another time. Perhaps even another blog.

A blog that would encourage vitriolic sprays, rather than the good humoured rants that go on in this fair space.

See the problem is that I can't make the post sound like I don't hate the English. Which I don't (except when they get demonstrate at the end of a Rugby-Union match that they are either gracious losers or atrocious winners).

No I don't dislike them at all - oh except when the first thing that comes out of their mouth is something about my being from a prison island.

I GENUINELY like them except when it becomes obvious that their entire knowledge of Australia is based on the adventures from Ramsay Street, or Summer bay.

err... sorry, got carried away... :-p

Really though, I know too many English folk here, and I'm not concerned about my dance-card being emptied - it's never full, it is out of sheer respect for people I genuinely like that I am withholding the post.

Yup, that post is going to be pondered. Or maybe sent on privately to Australian friends for them to nod sagely over and perhaps add to.

So - I'm going to get on to another post - the mainstay of bloggers here on the little desert island:

Driving - I think I have the answer. Or at least have found the problem.

:-)

It seems everyone is so touchy these days...

I often read forums, some I am actively involved in, some I simply lurk at - lurking being a term used for people who stay in the shadows to view rather than to contribute..

It seems that every week another topic will surface that begins as an innocuous subject - that quickly turns into some beat up or other.

SO having witnessed flame-fest after flame-fest I have decided to put the next significant post(on people who complain) in for yet another re-write.

Primarily because, in order to cover the concept of the archetypical whinger, there is a little bit of ...

...ummm... finger pointing at a country in particular.

First write was ace.

Then I binned it.

The second used too many personal examples.

I binned that too.

The last version is done. Now I'm going to wait for a couple of days at least.
I'm still pretty sure people are going to be angry, or at least a little miffed - but I'm not renowned for being subtle, a talent that if adopted might mean that I'd have significantly more people who'd call me for a coffee date.

Will see how it runs tomorrow.

Or maybe the next day...

In the mean time I'm endeavouring to get more done overall - including the mighty travel diary (see the link at the top of this page)

AND a new project.

A project that YOU can be directly involved in.

News as it comes to hand.

Some may think that I set out to lampoon businesses here on this desert island of Abu Dhabi.

I can assure you that I don’t, it’s just that most of the time they appear to TRY to get poked at.
I have always said, if you want good press, give good service, or at least start by delivering 10% of what you offer, then work your way up from there.

The source of my ire?

UAE companies that have a website, WITH a ‘contact us’ component that offers electronic contact via email. Email that is obviously being directed to mail server which if were to be sketched as a real life postbox would look like it were overstuffed, unattended and had its messages being blown down the street in the breeze.

No wait, having messages blowing down the street implies that at some point someone would pick them up. Sure that someone might be the wrong person, but at least in that instance a human interaction might be made with the fruits of ones “email-query” loins.

First in line:

A company that sells 4x4's with (cryptic clue here) Just Enough Essential Parts.

We of the Bayt Al Abudhabilist were recently fortunate enough to pick up a 4wd - cheap.
Obviously there are a few odds and ends to do to improve it’s existence, but those odds and ends are reflected by the initial low cost of purchasing the thing.

To the manufacturers website I go. Well, via Google I found the local site. It had a phone number and an address but best of all it had a section that allowed me to contact the parts department direct with my list of demands.

These weren’t great demands, but ones that I wanted met..

Did they stock oil filters?
I might need headlights
And a fan belt
And a viscous fan clutch coupling (don't ask, just know that it's an important doo-dad)

Not a big list of not uncommon parts I’ve since found out.

No response was forthcoming, but then I guess it might be that I am impatient, seven days isn’t that long… it’s only a week after all. Even though I didn’t want to appear too pushy, after 14 days I sent them another one.

And waited for another week.

Then I grabbed the toll free number from the website and phoned. Twice. Neither time was my call answered as I sat grinding my teeth in frustration.

Was there another number to call? Well yes of course there was, but that is entirely beside the point. Why OFFER a toll free number if it’s not going to be answered? Similarly - why have a space on the web page where prospective clients can lodge their request if there is absolutely no intent to respond?

I resolved the issue not by calling, but by leaping in the mighty truckster and taking the scenic drive off the island to the industrial area where the service and parts HQ was situated. More expensive than a phone call, sure, but I was working on principle now.

I swaggered in and was met by a smiling face at the reception who directed me to the parts department, (10 metres away and to her left), of course I should have picked it out myself if I had have bothered to look, given that it had a sign in 6 foot letters denoting it as the place for all things part-ish. I blame the receptionist for my dunderheadedness, smiling and being friendly and asking how she could help - clearly I must have looked lost, and she was obviously far too good at her job.

Sitting at each of the 3 desks was a parts guy. I sat down in front of the one waving most frantically and asked him about the viscous fan thingy. At least I think he was waving, and to be fair the others were speaking loudly into their phones and so didn’t get their hips into the arm flailing.

Yes he had one, yes he could get it for me and yes it was 3 times the price I had been lead to believe it was going to be. Unfortunately the fan thingy is an important ummm.. thing so I had to get it or risk the big V8 exploding, or simply melting into the road. When he returned with my disconcertingly small box for such an important thing, I asked him regarding the phone internet drama I had experienced.

Either he didn’t understand the question in the 4 different ways I put it to him, I wasn’t explaining myself well enough, there WAS no email/toll free service, or all of a sudden we had a language barrier rendering the terms :

"Email doesn't work" and "Phone not answered" entirely incomprehensible.

I suspect that the email thing has never worked, but surely - and I am aware that I am utilising ‘free and innovative thought’ here - something like the road-to-nowhere email does nothing to strengthen a business relationship?

Solution.

Easy.

Take the link off the page.

OR

(This is directed at the company by JEEPers, but come along for the ride) - Hire me to keep an eye on the parts/service department emails. I don’t need an office, I can do it from here, and I’m never far from a computer. Perfect I would have thought - it would take me 5 minutes a day to service.

And I’m cheap.

Of course this arangement is unlikely to happen - except in the service utopia that exists only in my head - because the first rule of customer service here is a simple one -

“Do not help a captive audience”

The interpretation of the rule is this:

Don’t fix the email thingy, because they’ll call.

Don’t fix the toll free thingy because when it doesn’t work they’ll use the pay number.

Charge them what you like, It’s not like they can go anywhere else”

I left the showroom and walked back to the car, glad at least that my look of shock, light sweating and grasping at my chest seemed to get the price down a little for the small box of steel and thermostat I was currently nursing in my arms.

Must try that when ordering coffee, only the grasping will be an indication of the affect the beverage might be having on my oesophagus…

…I’ll let you know how it goes if I decide to deploy such tactics for caffeine