Movistar knows my email and my telephone number (because I am a client of theirs). They send me a paperless factura for the month to my email. Very modern of them. But, from this month, I have to go through some more hoops to find it (what is my NIE number... what is the password...?). What password? Why are we so fucking anal in Spain?
So, here I am, jumping through hoops with the coffee this morning. Filling out forms, looking for my NIF number which (subconsciously, it makes sense) I have never learned. Suddenly, the house-phone rings. It's that sweet little anodyne Movistar-girl who lisps me a four digit number, which I am encouraged to write down.
Things could be better though, because (as I slurp still more coffee), it turns out that I need an eight digit number.
Bored with this, and out of coffee, I write them a nice letter (which no one is going to read). It says: 'Who the fuck is going to jimmy my email just to find out how much I am being clipped by the Movistar people with the monthly factura?'.
I wonder - have they put the bill up... in the hope that most people won't bother to fart about trying to see how much is going to be walloped out of their bank account?
Later, after a bathroom visit, I think - shit. I'm going to find out how much my telephone bill was for May.
I give them a call on 1004.
The girl finally picks up (it takes six minutes this time). Ahh, hello, listen, I want to know my factura for mayo.
Once we have established the number I am calling her from (it's on her screen), she asks 'are you Willian?'.
My father, Bill, died in 1986. I have never got around to telling Telefonica about the tragic loss of their client. The paperwork would kill me.
'Yes', I say firmly, 'that's me, Willian'.
The factura, friends, was 87,56€. (The last one I can find, September's, was 77,83€). An annual price rise of around 15%.
The coffee is cold.