Shashi Warrior | Internet limbo: where did all the orders go?

When my wife and I were planning a trip, I went to the railway reservation office in town to book our tickets. On the way home, I went to a supermarket to buy supplies, and there I ran into my friend Raghavan, the teacher. He seemed to be struggling with a shopping list and looked a little hassled. “It’s so boring to find things on these shelves,” he said. “They never label these things correctly.”

“Let me help you,” I said, taking his list. I found everything he wanted, put it all in his cart, then picked up the items on my list before checking out. “I’m not used to shopping in the markets anymore,” he says, lifting his basket of purchases from the counter.

“How come?” I asked.

“My wife buys almost everything online,” he replied. “There are a lot of commercial sites. And you?”

“Oh, I’m a regular here,” I said. “I pretty much know where they put things, so it’s very easy.”

“You should try online shopping,” he said. “We started during confinement. It’s really convenient and you don’t need to leave the house.

At that time, I was looking for change in my wallet to pay for my purchases. He saw the folded train tickets in one of the compartments. “Go somewhere?” He asked.

“Yes,” I replied, paying my bill in cash. “A wedding near Kochi.”

“Oh!” he said. “Why don’t you book your tickets online?” »

“I’m a little clumsy with these things, you know,” I said, a little ashamed.

“Oh dear!” he said. “My ten-year-old can do these things easily. So why not you ?

“I get in trouble every time I try,” I mumbled. “I don’t know why, but I always end up in trouble.”

“Listen, let’s discuss this over coffee,” he said. We found a table at the cafe next door, and he asked, “What kind of trouble can you get into while shopping online?”

“I can’t describe it,” I said. “I’m bewitched, that’s all.”

“Give me an example,” he said.

“The day before yesterday we had some unexpected visitors at lunchtime,” I said, trying to remember the details of that day. “Six people, all big eaters, and all distant relatives so I had to feed them. And, of course, both of us. I ordered four plates of butter chicken, twelve naans, four biryanis, two palak… »

Raghavan interrupted me, more than a hint of impatience in his voice. “It didn’t matter how much you wanted to eat,” he said. “What happened with the restoration site?

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” I said. “I placed the order, then entered my credit card details and everything, then I saw that the money had been taken out of my account but the food delivery site had not the money. It was stuck somewhere in limbo, between the bank and the restoration site.”

“So what did you do?” He asked.

“Well, we didn’t have time to cook a meal,” I said. “So I went to this nearby restaurant and picked up…”

“No, no,” he said, impatience returning. “What did you do with the money?” »

“Nothing,” I say. “I had to go get the food.”

“You didn’t follow with the money?” he asked, surprised.

‘My wife did,’ I said. “She told me she tried several phone numbers that led to a voicemail system. She must have listened to about 45 minutes of English messages spoken in an accent that she is sure no human being uses anywhere in the world. When she got to what appeared to be a human – or it could have been a machine with a Punjabi accent, she said, you can never be sure – it took about ten minutes of waiting to confirm the problem because the internet was very slow then punjabi accent told him money would be refunded in three working days.

“So you got it back?” ” He asked.

“Not yet,” I said. ” It’s for tomorrow. Hope they send it by then as my wife doesn’t want to suffer from the voicemail accent anymore. And similar things happen with shopping sites.

“I don’t know why,” he said. “It’s unusual. But let me see if we can fix your rail reservation system for you. Give me your phone.”

I obediently put my phone back and he started playing with it. I moved to sit next to him so I could see what he was doing. He was using the browser and on a rail site in no time, with a form he was filling out while asking me questions. At some point he entered my cell phone number and then the system asked for a password or something. “Give me a password,” he told me, and I made one up on the spot. He entered the password, then he asked him to confirm the password, which he did.

Then we waited… And waited and waited until this disturbing message finally arrived: “The request has expired. Try again.”

We tried again. Raghavan started all the fuss again, but when it came time for him to enter my cell phone number, the system rejected him with the message: “This phone number is registered. Use another.

When we tried to access the system using my mobile number, it displayed an error message: “Unknown phone number”. Raghavan finally gave up, scratching his head. “It worked perfectly when I tried it,” he said.

“Don’t worry,” I consoled him. “I am the one who is in limbo. I’m used to it.”

End of