Where do you want it mate?
Said the delivery man with a cheeky nod as if he were thinking I might reply with some butt-cheeked innuendo.
I gave him a stern look before motioning at a space in the hall as if to say, just there is fine you dirty-legged tramp.
The delivery guy heaved the gigantic box into the hallway and nodded amiably.
Enjoy!
He said before turning on his heel, heading back to his van to deliver similar boxes of happiness to his customers like a year-round Santa.
I made a chuffing noise of excitement as if someone had just offered me a goose to stroke.
It was my new TV.
In this day and age of fragile sensibilities I must stress that when I say TV, I mean television. Not Transvestite. The Good Lady is quite clear that she does not approve of such things being delivered and besides, there is nowhere to store them and their big shoes.
I couldn't wait. It had seemed like divine providence when one of the kids had whacked the old TV with a ball and the next time we watched it there was a white glowing patch where the ball had struck.
A new TV must be had or we will end up at the gates of hell for not conforming to consumer sheepdom.
I had announced portentiously.
Si oh padre oh mio. Get tooting on the webs and purloin us something of the large variety.
Had replied the Good Lady with a smile too as she was not the only one to feel the envy of the small screened when visiting other folks' houses with gigantic wall-sized screens in the corner of their rooms.
And so we purchased a big TV for a very reasonable price. Now it had arrived I was prepared to hog the damn thing for days playing Xbox and watching shitty Marvel movies.
The Good Lady helped with the giant box and soon we had the new TV out on the rug and we were gazing in awe at its black marble-like exterior.
I have never seen anything so sleek and beautiful before.
Remarked the Good Lady reverently, obviously forgetting the last time we had done the do and she had the opportunity to feast her eyes on my bangstick.
It is a cracker.
I murmured softly as I leaned in close to blow a hair off the screen.
That's weird.
The hair did not move. It remained there, about an inch long and perfectly straight right in the middle of the screen.
Hey, this isn't a hair. It's a scratch?!
I gnashed my teeth in anguish. The day which had shone so brightly only moments before was cheapened. Sullied now by the shitness of our scratched and damaged new TV.
Bollocks. I will have to phone the fuckers.
So phone I did.
I got a new TV delivered today and the screen is scratched.
Are you sure sir?
Of course I am fucking sure? I am not a buffoon. It is as plain as day. A scratch, right in the middle.
Language please sir. I don't understand, we take great care with our products. Are you certain? We inspect each product before it leaves.
Of course I am certain. It is a scratch. I know what a scratch is. I am the Tech King. It's a bloody scratch!
You will have to contact the manufacturer directly, this is impossible.
No I will not contact the manufacturer directly. You will come take this scratched piece of crap and bring me a new one, preferably UNSCRATCHED.
I do not have the authority for this sir. Are you absolutely sure it is scratched?
IT'S A BLOODY SCRATCH!! RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE! ITS SCRAAAAATCHEDD!
I gargled on my own rage saliva and shook my fist at the sky.
A blur of telephone conversations with different people who took turns attempting to gaslight me followed.
Eventually, the Store ran out of people who could deny that such a thing was possible and grudgingly accepted my return request, arranging an exchange for a new TV five days later.
The days passed slowly. I chewed my nails. The fear setting in. What if the new one was scratched as well? What if I had to speak to more people for hours, bellowing that I would not be treated like an old shoe. I had spoken to one lady for so long the day of the delivery that I was worried I might have married her by accident.
The day arrived and the delivery man swapped out my old scratched shitty new TV for a sealed box of heavenly TV promise.
After he left the Good Lady and I fell to our knees pawing at the packaging until once again, a black behemoth lay on our rug. Its polished mirror-like surface gleaming up at us.
Is it ok?
The Good Lady trembled.
I scanned the screen for imperfections like a Canadian Leather worker petting a fat dog.
It was fine!
Hurrah!! It is! There isn't a blemish on it!!
We both stood and danced around our new God for some minutes before getting back down and starting to remove the silly bits and bobs of packaging that still stuck to the sides.
What's this?
The Good Lady tugged at a bit of red tape at the side of the screen.
Dunno? Pull it off.
The Good Lady pulled at the little tab of red tape and suddenly the top surface of the TV began to lift.
What the hell? Is this a giant screen protector?
She finished pulling it off and the screen shone even more slickly than before.
I looked in horror at her and remembered my ranting hours on the phone some days ago.
IT'S A BLOODY SCRATCH!!!..... OF COURSE I KNOW WHAT A SCRATCH IS?!?!
Echoed in my head.
It had a screen protector on it?
Oops.
