Perhaps the word that best defines the current generation of console hardware is ‘unreliable’.

After the most recent PlayStation 3 Firmware update one of my Dualshock controllers simply stopped working. Then, of course, there’s the fact that I’m now on my fifth Xbox 360, four previous models having fallen to Microsoft’s $1.15 billion three red ring defect.

My most recent machine died in dramatic form, refusing to even power up again after blinked its last. This meant I had no way of removing the Rock Band disc from the tray (I’ve since been informed it is possible to do this manually if you remove the front of the machine but I didn’t know that at the time).

While Microsoft advise customers to ensure no discs or peripherals are sent off to the repair centre with machines, as far as I knew that was literally no way for me to get the game out. So I used sellotape and A4 paper to plaster an ALL CAPS message to whichever overworked repair engineer received the package, warning that my game was in the drive and could he/ she ensure it was sent back with the fixed console.

A few days later a brand new Xbox 360 turned up at my house with a note explaining that, to save time, the repair centre had simply sent me out a new one. Efficient and convenient, for sure, but my game was nowhere to be seen.

All huff puff and indignation, I called up Xbox support. Fifteen minutes later I had the assurance they’d track down the missing game and call me back.

Two weeks later I called them back to find out if they’d made any progress.

“Ah. Sorry sir. For some reason this was never followed up. I will personally write a note on your account and make sure we get your disc back for you. Somebody will call you back in 72 hours.”

72 hours later, this e-mail message arrives:

We have conducted an internal investigation and have determined that there was no game in the Xbox console when we received it at the service repair centre.

With regards,

Xbox Support

Translation: “You’re a big fat liar. XOXO, Xbox Support.” Now this has become a thing. I’m saying this (and I know I’m right because I put the disc in right before the console broke) and they’re saying that and how the hell does this end well for me?

I call the number on the e-mail:

“Listen. Why would I lie about Rock Band being in the tray, a game that requires multiple additional peripherals? Why would I lie about that? I have the peripherals here in my house, cold and redundant. Why are you calling me a liar?”

“We’re not calling you a liar sir, I can assure you of that”

“Yeah… The thing is that, you are literally calling me a liar. I say the disc was in the machine and you say it wasn’t. One of us isn’t telling the truth and you’re saying that person is me.”

“Sir. I have personally spoken to the manager at the repairs centre and he has checked the console’s arrival log report and there is no mention of a game disc being present in the console in that log.”

“OK. But conceivably the engineer who filled out that log form could have neglected to mention there was a disc in the tray, right? He might have pocketed the disc instead or perhaps, despite my extremely visible note indicating the presence of a disc in the tray, he filled out the form before he fixed the machine and realized there was a disc in the machine?”

“Yes sir. That is why we recommend that you remove any games from the console before sending it to us”

“BUT…”

“Yes sir, I realize that the machine wouldn’t switch on so you couldn’t get the disc out. We’re sorry about that. Really, we are”

“…”

After I hang up, Mrs. Chewing Pixels asks me why I didn’t mention what I do for a living. I like to think I didn’t mention the game journalist thing because I wanted to experience the same treatment that the common user receives; so that I can talk with some verisimilitude of the terrible ways in which The Man treats its consumers.

But really, I kept schtum for fear that the guy on the other end might reply: ‘Um…yeah. And?’

If I had the time, money and fervour I’d book a trip to the repair centre in Germany under the guise of reporting the repairs process for some magazine or other. Then I’d meet with the supervisor, get the name of the engineer who received my machine, look him in the eye and say: ‘J’ACCUSE!’ or whatever the Germanic equivalent is.

We could compare Xbox Live dates to see when I stopped playing Rock Band and when he started and the evidence would be CONCLUSIVE and I’d twizzle a Poirot air moustache and feel totally righteous and smug.

But really, it’s just a £35 theft against somebody who gets the vast majority of his games for free. In a world of gross unfairness this is a flea-sized injustice that’s pretty easy to swallow.

Still, it’s the principle that matters and, my disc was definitely stolen. As the machine wouldn’t even switch on until it was repaired, it’s a pretty safe bet on who that person was.

Moral of the story? Don’t send your discs in to the repair centre when your Xbox inevitably dies.

Admittedly, as morals of stories go, it’s a pretty weak one, seeing as that’s the exact same thing Microsoft advise customers to do themselves but still, a thief that issues a warning before he kicks you in the shins and robs you is still a thief, right?