Waiting for Godot…

The Gas Man Cometh
(or Druid Theatre’s production, “Waiting For Godot”, Royal Lyceum theatre, Edinburgh.
Image copyright: Corbis via Getty Images / Getty Images. Found here).

Today was the second attempt at a “smart meter” installation. This meant considerable disruption: the second afternoon taken off work to be at the house to greet the much-vaunted, never seen, engineer.

The first time it happened, at least there was the text and apologetic phone call. “Sorry, but the engineer has been delayed on another job. Will need to reschedule.” We rescheduled.

The automatic system is brilliant. Every day a text and email to confirm the impending appointment, peaking at two a day (though this may have been entirely my confusion, caused by picking up emails on mobile devices.)

This morning, 07:30, a final confirmation reminding me of the importance of giving up (another) half a day’s wages. I duly complied, and at the allotted time sat waiting in eager anticipation of the imminent arrival of the engineer.

Four hours later it became increasingly obvious that the long-waited-for engineer was not going to show up. Right to the last second of his window (for which it was incredibly important I be in the house), with no call, text, or email to indicate that he was not coming, hope remained high.

Five minutes past the time: a timorous knock on the door.

“The engineer!” cried the wife.

Leaping from my chair, I welcomed in…

…a charity worker. I am now sponsoring a disadvantaged child in some underprivileged, underfunded hell hole somewhere in deepest, darkest, Scotland…

Imagine my surprise, then, nay shock! when the anticipated apology for the no-show engineer, pinging into text and email notification, turned out to be a request for feedback.

“Oh, dear,” said the wife. “You’re going to enjoy this…”

Not as much as I would have enjoyed the thrill of seeing, in real-time, my live usage of electrons surging into the property directly from the Scottish Power grid, half a day’s wages, or an afternoon frolicking, carefree, without the hefty responsibility of waiting for someone who would never come…

And if you don’t understand Beckett’s masterpiece now, you never will…