Year of Eating Differently (67): Cafe Tosca, Noel Street

Unfortunately today is the ensuing saga of my duff Sony Ericsson K850i, which came back from the repair shop today, rather than the rather nice brie sandwich and cup of leek and potato soup I had at Cafe Tosca today. That was fine. The phone, on the other hand, wasn't. Due to a senior moment at the repair centre, they couldn't figure out the handset's serial number, so they sent it back with a note that said it had probably been tampered with and they weren't going to fix it.
I got ready to blow my stack. Meanwhile the droid on call in the Vodafone shop kept telling me it was just because they couldn't find the serial number (but this is the second time - why didn't it show up the first time?) and then kept saying to the person on the other end of the line at the service centre that the customer doesn't understand her. I understand what you're saying, I just don't understand why you're talking such claptrap right in front of me, when the letter says as such. Finally I get them to send it off for repair again (after they ask me what I want to do - what do I want to do? Take away a phone you didn't bother to fix properly? After waiting 45 minutes? Eh?), and then have to call up Customer Services, who tell me that if it goes wrong three times, I deserve a new one. I'm livid anyway, because I don't do very well at being patronised by somebody who's got the wrong end of the stick.
So I shuffle off to Customer Services. I tell them that as far as I'm concerned, it has gone wrong three times, because it's had to go to get repaired three times. This is good enough logic for the guy on the other end of the phone, who wants to be shot of me, so he tells me to go back to the shop and demand a new handset. I'll be back in a while, complaining about how they haven't done this, and wondering if I should feel guilty about spoiling somebody's Christmas by making a complaint about her.