Be Happy. That Is An Order.

Gentle readers who have been following my rambling for a while know that I am a person of infinite patience and even temper when it comes to real life events. It is an unspoken rule that here is where my grumpiness emerges, not elsewhere.
(ok, you can stop with the snickering now)

I must confess that this rule of mine was nearly broken - nay, shattered beyond repair today in the face of yet another twist in the continuing saga of downright lame customer service. I'll spare you the gory details, but in short:

I've been trying to deal with this particular company for five months now, politely and patiently, with the respect that any business deserves. Honest I have. I have yet to receive completely satisfactory service but things have been looking up.

Today, the field service guy - yet another in a string of different field service guys - showed up, this time only a few hours late (as opposed to not at all). He did what he had arrived to do, then returned to the front porch again, extending clipboard with a form for signature.

Down and slightly to the right of the place for me to sign, teensy letters: Are you happy with the service? The YES box was already checked (in the same ink as the rest of service guy's writing).

Perhaps someone thinks that if they check this off before I get my mitts on it, I shall be satisfied because the form says so.

Bless their hearts.