How did I end up on a helpline for befuddled old people?

Certain contractual terms oblige my eldest sons to periodically appear at their places of employment.

- Tim Dowling

On rare occasions they both go in on the same day. On this particular day, my wife and the dog are also out. I'm alone in the house.

I'm lingering over lunch, when my phone pings in my pocket. It's a text from my bank. "Your address has been updated," it reads. "If you didn't make this request..." I think: I certainly didn't.

"... please contact us urgently." So much for lingering over lunch.

I return to my office shed and locate the helpline number on the bank's website. A robot asks me to speak my reason for calling.

"You told me to call you," I say. This is not satisfactory. I am given a list of acceptable reasons. I say "No" to all of them. When I've exhausted this branch of inquiry, I'm asked to input a bunch of identifying numbers using the keypad. Once I've completed this, the bank hangs up on me.

I ring again, rephrasing my reason for calling and speaking very slowly.

I'm asked if, instead of hold music, I would prefer a soothing tone. I choose hold music, because I want to remain as irritated as I am right now.