We need to get the garden tidied. Between my allergies (debilitating) and Marc's busy schedule and the million and one other jobs we have for him, we figured we'd get a company in.
Marc looked up the company (the one who came when we moved in) on the on-line directory for Luxembourg. It's one of the bigger gardening companies in Luxembourg. I dialed the number.
I will translate the conversation for you.
"Mhmph-humumum" Says the voice that answers the phone.
"Yes, hello, is this XYZ gardening?" I ask.
Affirmative GRUNT on the other end.
"I'd like to get an estimate to have our garden tidied" I say.
"Sigh... You need my secretary for that." is the reply (my psychic powers should have guessed this?). Then a grudging "I'll transfer you."
He comes back a minute later. "She's busy." He announces.
I wait a moment. He says nothing further. "Should I call back?" I ask.
"Yes." (undertone "DUH!")
O-kay. "And when would she be free?" I ask, barely containing my sarcasm.
"Oh, you can try again in 10 minutes. But don't call this number."
???
When no explanation is provided I said "This is the number listed on pt.lu...?"
"I know, but you shouldn't use it. Call xx xx xx xx." he barks down the line.
Why do I feel like an eight-year old making crank calls?
Okee-dokee. "Goodbye." I say.
"Grunt" he says and hangs up.
Happy shiny people live in this country.
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