I ordered food from Ocado, printer ink from Amazon and school shirts from M&S. Getting carried away with my success, I looked for paint on the B&Q website. The Teenager wants to paint over his old Manchester City blue walls into a more mature light grey (or ‘light rain’ on the paint chart). Not a problem.
I ordered the three tubs of paint and threw in some ceiling paint for good measure. Got to the online checkout. Home delivery not available, just reservation in store. Ok. My nearest store is a ten minute drive away. With air-con on full blast, I could manage it. So I happily put in all my details, printed off the confirmation email and planned to pick it up the next day.
The morning after, someone called to say that my paint wasn’t in stock. Fine. Could you you let me know when it will be in stock please? No. You have to fill in the entire online page again. Which I did. And printed off the confirmation email and planned to pick it up the next day.
The morning after, someone called to say that my paint wasn’t in stock. Groundhog Day? Can you let me know when it will be in stock? No. You have to fill in the entire online page again. I counted to ten, said thank you very much (I’m British), and put the phone down.
Fired up with indignation, I got in the car and drove to the store. Bypassing the cruising pensioners in bright t-shirts, clutching pots of lavender, I stalked the paint aisles. And there, right where I expected them to be, were my two tubs of paint. And the ceiling paint.
Shoving them in my wheely-basket, I stomped up to the checkout, trying to find someone I could complain to. No one in sight, so I scanned through my items, put them back in the wheely-basket to take to the car. As I was leaving, there were three members of staff chatting to pensioners in bright t-shirts, clutching pots of lavender.
The website name for B&Q? www.diy.com. Does exactly what it says on the tin.