I have one ... at last.

I'm talking about a phone at home.

It started on December 16, 2008, when, on moving into a new studio apartment in a central city area, I phoned Telstra (on the phone line that was in the unit) to ask for reconnection.

"No problems," they said.

Two weeks later I rang again to ask why my phone wasn't connected.

"It (the order) has gone into an error state," the person said knowingly, dazzling me with his grasp of the technical telecom lexicon.

"Thanks for letting me know," I said, the sarcasm lost, however, on someone who sounded suspiciously like he was munching on a samosa. I wondered if that was the market in Mumbai I could hear in the background. Or perhaps it was a call centre in Prahran? Who knows the mysteries of these things?

But, my mystical guide said, it would be put right and someone would call me the following day to advise.

A week later, no word. I called back.

"Error state,' the operator repeated. "Let's have another go?" You've got to admire bind optimism like that.

The next week, still no-one had called me, I tried again.

"You'll need to get the plan number of the dwelling from the council, because it doesn't exist on our records," this bright spark, a woman this time,  suggested.

Manfully controlling myself, I explained that this wast the first I had heard of this onerous and time-consuming requirement on my difficult quest so far. I also explain (again) that I was actually communicating with this person on the telephone line in question so it (and me, I supposed) must exist (or the very least have existed at some time in the past ... October in fact when the previous occupant had vacated the place).

The reaction was swift, assertive, my beligerance having obviously brow-beaten a concession out of the telco at last.

I was assigned a 'Case Manager' and assured he would call me shortly.

A week later, I phoned again and asked to speak with my case manager (who's name I had not been given) and was told that there were no records of my problem. It was suggested we start all over again and see if it would work this time.

The operator was a little suprised that, by now, I was feeling a little frustrated. (Customers waiting more than a month for a phone to be reconnected was a daily occurence for him apparently, something to be accepted with perfect equanimity and, perhaps, a slightly world-weary sigh of long-suffering understanding.)

A couple of weeks later (and, I estimate, about 40 hours 'on hold' with various Telstra operators - love that phrase "I'll just have a word with my manager and see how we can sort this out", because by then it was the twentieth time I'd heard that little one) a case manager actually called me.

When I regained conciousness from my faint, he informed me that a technician (yes, the actual live human being type) woud need to be sent to my place to see what the problem was. The way he said it, it sounded like the cost would be coming directly out of his pocket ... and how could I be so cruel and demanding anyway?

Of course the time the technician could be there was totally inflexible, immutable. I had to fit in with Telstra's 'schedule' by taking the day off work to ensure I was there "between 10am and 2pm" on the day.

The day arrived, and so did the tech ... at precisely 1.45pm.

This was exactly 7 weeks since my first request for a telephone reconnection.

In about two minutes, the affable fellow had the line up and running.

Of course I couldn't pass up the opportunity to coat him with my tale of woe in dealing with his erstwhile office-bound collagues.

"Tell me about it," he said. "I get the same story a dozen times a day. I don't know why I still do this crap."

Couldn't have said it better myself.

Still, I guess that's what you get for living in a third world country like Australia eh?

Anyway mates, avacoldieonme!