I just want somewhere to put the milk!

Odd isn't it, how it's always life's little irritations that wind you up the most. If something major goes wrong, you just get on and deal with it and all the other stuff becomes irrelevant.

But when you're up against the little things in isolation, what should be a minor annoyance gets magnified out of all proportion.

It was like that with my fridge door . . .

I just wanted somewhere to put the milk, that's all, but the plastic thingy that attaches to the inside of the door was cracked and broken.

To make matters worse, I had a broken drawer on the separate freezer too. Both appliances came with a kitchen I had fitted about three years ago and are made by a company called Sarena. Like many modern white goods, they don't appear to have been built to last.

Never mind, I thought, all I have to do is call the company and order replacement parts. How hard can that be?

I dug out the instruction manual and - after congratulating myself on the efficiency of my filing system - called the customer service number whereupon a friendly automated answering machine informed me I was in a queue.

I waited. And waited. I made a cup of tea. I waited some more. After 20 minutes, while still waiting, I decided to log on the the company's website to see if I could order the parts online.

As I typed in the web address I accidentally dropped the phone and disconnected myself. It was then I discovered I couldn't order the parts I needed online anyway, so I called up again, only to be placed at the back of the queue . . . again.

Finally, I got to speak to a person. She asked for the model number of my fridge. I gave it to her. She asked what part I required. I said "the thing you put the milk in".
She said: "I don't know what part that is."

That threw me somewhat because I thought everyone knew where the milk went. Nevertheless, I calmly explained that there were two trays that attached to the inside of my fridge door. One at the top, for eggs and stuff, and one at the bottom, for milk and juice. I wanted the one at the bottom. The milk one.

"I need more information," she insisted. Then she told me she was going to email me a diagram of my fridge which I would have to use to identify the part number I required.

I was beginning to lose my temper. "What did you do before email?" I enquired. "And why do you have a customer service telephone number if you don't let people order parts over the phone?"

Annoyingly, she remained incredibly calm and explained that there might be more than one attachment for the milk and she didn't want to send me the wrong one.

"But I've given you the model number. Surely there's only one tray for the milk for that particular fridge!" Apparently not.

We moved on to the freezer problem. "What's the model number," she said.

"Where will I find it?"

She explained that the number was conveniently located at the back of my freezer, which necessitated me having to use a hammer to remove a frozen chunk the size of the Larsen B Ice Shelf in order to dislodge the broken drawer and locate the number. Why can't they put the model number on the inside of the door?

Anyway, having waited patiently for me to read out said number, she then politely explained that she would send me an email with a diagram, so I could identify the part required for this appliance too.

"So what IS the point of giving you the model number?" I asked.

"So I can send you the appropriate diagram," she explained.

Customer service eh? God only knows what parts will eventually arrive. I'll keep you posted.

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