Public Address - Cracker (Home)

In case you were interested | Sep 23, 2008 11:09

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As Russell has mentioned, TVNZ 7 has a live two-hour debate (first hour on telly, both hours on the interweb) all about the Internet tonight from 9pm - 11pm.

What Russell didn't mention, mainly because it wasn't the case when he blogged about it on Friday, was that I'll be presenting it. I only learned that myself on Saturday. Which is quite exciting, for me at least. So I hope you'll watch it, and bear in mind it's my first go at such a thing, and I only learned what an autocue looked like yesterday :) Turns out it's just moving words on a screen – phew.

I have lots of other stuff to say, about Fashion Week, Air New Zealand still not finding my bags (and not actually responding at all to my open letter about its appalling customer service, despite it being passed on to a number of people up the chain) and so on and so on. But I hope you'll forgive me if I leave it until I've got past this whole two-hours of live TV thing.

Instead, I will leave you with a few photos I took of Dunedin and the Otago peninsula the other week. Enjoy.

Seals at the Otago Peninsula. (Alive)

Stencil Graf, Dunedin

Student Flat, Dunedin

Cool scary house, Otago Peninsula

Larnach's Castle

Bird Statue thing, Larnach's Castle

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Being there is everything. Having your bags is a nice bonus | Sep 10, 2008 16:08

"Yes, well it's my job to educate the customer."

Damn, and here's me thinking it was the job of people who work at Air New Zealand baggage services to um, find my bag?

It all started innocently enough. A flight down to Palmerston North, a spot of business, then back on the plane later that afternoon down to Wellington for a bit more work and some overdue R&R. And no, despite previous protestations about the windy city, I'm not being ironic – I had actually decided to spend a few days in the capital of my own free will.

A brief summary of facts:

1. Check-in lady at Auckland airport tells me and my colleague we'll need to collect our bags at Palmy and re-check them in before heading to Wellington, owing to the fact we're stopping over for half a day or so.

2. At Palmerston North, our bags weren't on the carousel.

3. A staff member took our bag claim receipts, went out the back, and confirmed our bags were there and would go down to Wellington with us.

4. We finished work early, and decided to drive to Wellington rather than wait. We went back to the Palmerston North Airport to collect our bags.

5. Our bags weren't there. They haven't been seen since, and that was a fortnight ago.

That's all you really need to know. Fairly simple, although after having to explain and re-explain the situation to any number of Air New Zealand staff, you might think it was difficult. For the most part, they were fairly helpful, well as helpful as one can be when one has no freakin' clue where my bags are. And then I encountered Ms "It is my job to educate the customer". (The following conversation has been recounted to the best of my ability, and may differ slightly from any conversations recorded for much-needed training purposes).

This staff member – I'll call her Milly – was about the fourth person I'd spoken to the day after our bags went missing. My colleague and I had made at least a dozen calls between us, trying to find out what was being done.

When I ran Milly through the facts, above, she stopped me at point one: "You shouldn't need to collect your bags at Palmerston", she pointed out, not entirely helpfully.

"Well that's what we were told by the check-in person in Auckland," I explained, "but anyway, they weren't there."

"Well that's wrong," said Milly, "you should know for next time that your bags will go straight down to Wellington with you."

"With respect," I objected, in the time-honoured code used by lawyers to indicate they have anything but, "I'm not too concerned about next time, I'd really like to know where my bag is."

Not unreasonable, I thought. I'd already explained that my bag contained around thousands of dollars worth of clothes, jewellery, camera equipment and personal effects, the lack of which not only seriously impacted on my next few days' holiday, but also some major issues down the line. I was, after half a dozen conversations, stranded in the same clothes I'd been wearing for two days, getting a little testy.

"Yes, well it's my job to educate the customer. So just be aware that next time…"

The conversation didn't go too well after that. I pointed out that whether we'd gone unnecessarily to collect our bags from the carousel or not, it didn't change the fact they were no longer there. Or anywhere.

Milly suggested that maybe our bags were somewhere like Timaru. Why Timaru I asked? Well because they're not on the communication network with the other airports, and wouldn't have got the APB about our bags.

But we had tags on them? Yes, but they might have come off.

And my Koru ID tag might have come off too? Yes, it happens.

So what you're saying is every tag and piece of ID might have spontaneously come off not one, but two people's bags, and then they were shipped off to one of the only airports in the country (via a connecting flight, because flights from Palmy only go to main centres) and someone there doesn't know what to do with them?

Well, I supppppppppose that's possible.
__________________________________

An Open Letter to Air New Zealand.

To Whom It May Concern:

Yup, you lost my bag.

Okay. Shit happens. I would have thought shit might have happened when I was in Kabul, or Karachi, rather than on a flight to Palmerston North, but I can still see how it could happen. Either one of the airport staff nicked it when it was lying around at Palmerston North, or you accidentally shipped it off somewhere random, where someone else, a member of staff or member of public, decided to walk off with it.

Whoever it was, they did well. Somewhere in Palmerston North, (or Timaru, if Milly is right), some hillbilly is walking around in a brand new Christian Dior Cashmere Coat (it was on sale) waving my prized Nikon camera and saying "Look Ma, I'm a photogratician!"

It's not all bad. Some of your employees have been really helpful. Not so helpful that they found my bag, but understanding. Take for instance the nice man at Auckland Airport. I went to claim the $100 cash you get when Air New Zealand lose your bags. Only he had no cash, and the cashiers had cashed up already. Unperturbed, he went off for a few minutes and came back with two shiny $50 notes. I'm not sure how he got them, he just gave me a wink and said "you don't work here for a few years without learning some tricks." He was great, even if it was just $100.

But by Christ, if anyone ever insists on 'educating' me again about a completely irrelevant matter when I'm facing a meltdown because a large number of my valued possessions have just gone AWOL on one of your flights, I will not be liable for what is said or done.

(If anyone from Air New Zealand is reading this by the way, feel free to get in touch. Feel free to make good on what has been something of a PR disaster so far. I might take a few days to get back to you, because I'm about to start collecting receipts and quotes for everything that was in that bag. That's going to take a while, and I'm pretty sure no-one is going to compensate me for that.

Yours etc,

DC

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No Kitty Blues | Aug 14, 2008 22:13

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Every so often, someone comes along who becomes an integral, constant part of your life. And even though you know they won't be around forever, when they're taken from you before even their shortened time, it still comes as a terrible shock. I'll hope you'll indulge me while I pay tribute to that someone, and if not, there's plenty else to read – why not check out Hadyn and Emma, our newest additions?

For the past six years, my life and home has been shared by Tonka, a giant white pile of Birman fluff. As mentioned in the "About Damian Christie" section to your right, I've been optimistically describing him as "big-boned", although it's not entirely incorrect. He's a long cat, a big cat, made bigger still by fluff, but according to a recent visit to the vet, in pretty good shape.

Or so I thought. A couple of weeks ago, out of the blue, he had a turn. The following week was an emotional rollercoaster of vets visits, inconclusive tests, exploratory surgery, thousands of dollars and uncertain diagnoses.

More than once I left him with the vet, not expecting to see him again. In the end it was determined his heart was weak. It was affecting his liver, which was causing fluid build-up.

On Saturday morning the vet said Tonka was stable enough for me to bring home. He was weak, little more than fluff and bones, and sad. He had medicine for his heart – pills he'd have to take for the rest of his life – but was supposed to be on the road to recovery.

Tonka had other ideas. After sitting unhappily underneath my wardrobe most of the day, I pulled him out so he could sleep on my bed. At 3am on Sunday morning I was woken by his plaintive calls. He died in my arms a couple of minutes later. It was quick, if not entirely peaceful.

I buried Tonka later that day at my parents' place up North, and planted a cabbage tree on top of him.

It's said you don't know what you had until it's taken away from you. In the case of Tonka, I always knew what I had. I had a friend and companion, one who'd leave white fluff on everything I owned, and plonk himself on my chest and lick my nose when I was feeling down. He'd eat precious items of woollen clothing, and poo on my flatmate's couch when I'd move into a new flat. He'd lie on his back on the floor and let almost anyone rub his furry fat belly, his arms stretching out over his head, like a fluffy flying Superman. He might not have enjoyed it, but he never complained when I spun him around on the wooden floors.

Unlike some pets, who exist in the back of our lives, Tonka was there in the forefront. All of my friends knew him, and many had their own nicknames – Ponks, Sir Tonkleton, More Than a Kitty. He's probably seen enough scandal to make Bridget Saunders blush. He even made it on the telly a few times. The calls, messages and tears I've seen over the past week shows me that I wasn't alone in thinking he was pretty spesh.

My little house is empty now. I still see him through the front door when I come home, talk to him when I'm making dinner, and feel him sitting on the end of my bed at night. I wish he'd been around for longer, but I'm really grateful for the time we had together.

I miss you buddy.

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