Shattered

I love living on TI. I love the hot wet heat and the drenching squalls at this time of the year.  And I love the cool dry temperatures and raging south-easterlies in the middle of the year.  I love the laid-back lifestyle.  I love being far from the hustle and bustle of traffic and I don’t mind the delays that are inevitable when I order online from suppliers in the big smoke. It’s a small price to pay for living off the beaten track. 

     Until … Sutchy, under Tony’s tutelage, cut Detta’s grass.  I was at her place shortly after the grass was cut and she said she paid him $50.  I scoffed at the idea of a 15 year old earning so much money for an hour’s work, but she insisted.  When I got home, Tony was a little evasive.

     ‘Are you shitty?’ I asked him.

     ‘No.’ He looked down and I waited and waited.  ‘Sutchy, um, was cutting Detta’s grass and um, a stone hit the back window of your van.’

     ‘And?’

     ‘It smashed.’

     ‘What about a tarp or blanket?  You used to use them.’

     ‘We thought we were safe.’

Hopefully the black plastic will keep some of the water out.  Don't know where the dent came from.

     It was just before Christmas so I was filled with the festive season spirit.  Just as well because I would have grabbed the meat cleaver and hacked into him. 

     Why?  When Tony was operating the Gadin Ninja grass cutting business, Tony and his colleagues smashed quite a few windows of cars including our work vehicles.  Whippersnippers, stones and car windows don’t mix.  When car windows shatter, it’s the responsibility of the shatterer to replace the glass for the shatteree.

     We paid a large fortune to window manufacturers and auto-parts recyclers for the replacement windows and an equal fortune to freight companies.  You see, being fragile, glass needs huge amounts of packaging so what starts as a thin pane of glass often ends up a big as a two-seater sofa.  In terms of freight, this translates to big dollars.  I kept pleading with Tony to take steps to stop windows being smashed and eventually, to shut me up, he started using blankets and tarps.  The Window Preservation Management Plan worked a treat and no, repeat, no windows were thereafter shattered.

     So when Tony told me Sutchy smashed the back windscreen of my very old van, I wanted to scream, ‘How the fuck could it have happened if you’d used the no-fail Window Preservation Management Plan?’  I wasn’t concerned only about the cost of replacing the window.  I was also concerned about the imminent wet season and the squalls that would turn my van into a water tank on wheels.

     ‘Okay, I’ll order a window,’ I said with clenched fists and a sigh.

     Ordering the window was a tedious affair.  I first rang four suppliers of new windscreens.  It wasn’t looking good, but the fourth could order the windscreen at an exorbitant price.  I decided to source a second quote, to get an idea if the first quote was unreasonable. This was my fatal mistake.

     I rang auto-parts recyclers, the equivalent of second-hand clothes shops for car bits.  The fourth wrecker was able to locate a back windscreen for $150, half the first quote.  Things were in my favour.

     The very helpful man, Justin, asked me if I had a Toll account and I proudly answered, Yes and provided the account number.

     This is where things started to turn bad and I must acknowledge how patient Justin has been through this ordeal.  If he sues me claiming damages for nervous shock, I will attempt to settle.

     A week after placing the order, Justin rang to advise the glass had arrived, but he couldn’t send it because my Toll account number was incorrect.

     I found the most recent invoice from Toll and rang head office in Darwin.  Liz advised my account number was correct.

     I rang Justin and he asked me to ring Toll and sort the pick-up, just in case Toll maintained the account number was incorrect.  As if there could be a problem with the account number, I thought.

     So I rang Toll on the number Justin provided.  I was told there was no account in my name or under that number. I advised I had an invoice displaying my account number.

     ‘We are Toll Ipec,’ said the woman. ‘Is your account with Toll Ipec?’

     I looked at the invoice from Toll.  There was some very tiny print under Toll.  I put on my glasses.  The very tiny print read: Toll Marine Logistics.  I told the woman.

     ‘Never heard of them love,’ she said, ‘and we only deal with account holders, but can do a one off credit card payment.’

     At this point I realised the Gods were watching over me.

     ‘Where do you want us to pick up from?’

     I gave her the address on Warrego Highway.  I was on hold for quite a while.

     ‘Sorry, love.  That’s Ipswich.  We have an agent who goes out there, but he won’t take freight from anyone who is not an account holder.’

     Okay, conjoined twins who shared vital organs have been separated. Space craft have visited Mars and taken photographs. Forensic procedures have solved decades-old crime.  Ipswich wasn't the back woods.  My dilemma was no biggie.

     I rang Justin back, related the drama thus far and he said, ‘Ring your Toll company and see if they have an address in Brisbane.  They must.  It’s a major port.  We can get the glass to Brisbane and then you’ll be right.’

     So I rang Toll Marine Logistics in Darwin and asked Liz if Toll had a base in Brisbane.  My heart did a somersault when she answered in the affirmative.

     ‘Thanks, Liz.  I’ll get the freight delivered there so it can go all the way through to TI.’

     ‘Oh, you can’t do that,’ said Liz.  ‘We have only an office in Brisbane.  We don’t accept freight.  You’ll have to get the freight to Cairns.’

    This affair was starting to take a toll on my sanity.

     ‘Liz,’ my voice was getting shakey, ‘how can I get the freight from Brisbane to Cairns?’

     ‘Ring Toll Express on 1300 55 03 60.  They’ll be able to help.’

     I rang Toll Express.  They told me to ring NQX on 131821 because Toll Express would use NQX to deliver and I might as well cut out the middle man.

      So I rang NQX and asked if they freighted from Brisbane to Cairns? Yes, they’d be happy to and what did I have.  I said a windscreen.

     ‘Sorry, we are bulk industrial carriers,’ said the woman.

     ‘We are a business,’ I offered in desperation. ‘It’s a real business.’

     ‘You don’t understand.  We freight big stuff like mining equipment and material.’

     ‘Thank you,’ I said and choked back the tears.

     I rang Justin.

      ‘No worries,’ he said.  ‘I’ll ring our carriers, Followmont and get them to pick it up and get it to Cairns.  Will call you later today.’

      He didn’t call me and he didn’t call me the next day.  I then called him and he said he was on hold to Followmont too long and gave up, but he’d sort it and let me know.

     Justin hadn’t called me after 24 hours so I called him.  Followmont were getting back to him that day.

     ‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ he said.

      He didn’t call and that was last Friday.

     I don’t care anymore.  The glass can stay in Ipswich and I’ll have a mobile water tank because the rain started on Friday.