Sorry, Wrong Number

The criminal justice system in this country has it all wrong.  If you want to really punish someone, make them deal with a customer service rep. 

Oh, they seem to be helpful when you call (once you actually get a real, live person on the other end, you know, an hour and a half later), but it is really a diabolical plan to slowly drive people insane.

I imagine them carving notches in their headsets after "helping" some poor schlub.  "Ha! Got another one Frank.  That's 832 this week alone, and it's only Tuesday.  I am so going to beat your record of 2000!"

I, unfortunately, am just another notch.  And I didn't even know it this time for over a year.

It started out simply enough.  We were moving, so I filled out forms, checked boxes, notified friends, relatives, people I don't even like, but am somehow on their Christmas card list... I cancelled the power, gas, cable and phone.  I did it all.

The worst to deal with?  Gas and phone.  Why?  Because they actually had to come out to both the old  house and the new house.  Therefore, I had to be there between the hours of....Ah yes, I remember it well.

So I was shocked a few months ago when I got a letter from Verizon saying that I hadn't paid my phone bill in over a year, and they were going to discontinue service.  Concerned, I called them to find out what they were talking about since somebody named Verizon had been cashing my checks for the last twelve months.

"Oh no," said the guy who answered the phone after sixty-two hours of listening to a  pre-recorded message telling me how important my call was and that I would be helped shortly.  "Not your phone at your current address, your phone at your old address.

What?!!?  Wait.  So many issues with what you just said, I'm going to have to put you on hold while I try to keep my head from exploding.

After I counted to ten in three languages, meditated to center my chakras and gobbled handfuls of Advil, I felt a bit better prepared to deal with yet another customer service rep.  In retrospect, I probably just should have saved myself the aggravation and taken up skydiving...without a parachute.

Okay, so you are aware that we've moved, right?

Yes.

And you understand that moving means leaving one place and going to live in another, right?

Uh.  I guess.

And we switched all of our billing for our phone, cell phones, etc. to the new address, right?

Yeees.

So how is it possible that we are being billed for our old number?  And, by the way, since when do you let people go a full year without paying their bill?  And where were you sending those supposed bills for the last year since you clearly have our new address and the post office forwards mail from the old address for a full year?  Perhaps they were sent by carrierr pigeon and the birds kept getting eaten by the neighborhood cats before they could slip the bills into the mailbox?  Or maybe you sent them to our other old address where we lived fifteen years ago?

Um.  So you're saying you cancelled service at that address?

No, we're just really nice people and decided to pay the new owner's phone bill for a year.  We're also paying their gas, electric, cable and water bills too.  OF COURSE WE CANCELLED SERVICE!!!

Um.  Do you have an invoice number for that?

And that is the last thing I remember before seeing a light at the end of a tunnel and hearing a distant voice shouting, "Clear!"

Everything Old is "New" Again

For years, I had a cell phone. A regular, no frills, basic cell phone. Life was simpler then. You dialed, pushed send and voila!, your party was on the other end.

Then, Tim decided that I needed to upgrade. It wasn't enough that he could call me whenever he wanted; he desperately needed to send me e-mails as well. (These were the days when he personally carried two phones and one blackberry. When one of them rang, it was like watching outtakes from "So You Think You Can Dance" as he groped, slapped, patted and dug into every pocket and belt case on his person before finding the right one.)

And so, I got my blackberry. And within a few months, I had issues. And a few months later, it died.

So I had it replaced (oh, yeah, and lost all my info as a result--minor detail).

When I took it in, they explained that my "plan" was not up for renewal, so I couldn't get an "upgrade". Well, that was fine by me, since I didn't use most of the features on the darn thing anyway. Seriously, do I really need three email inboxes? And what the heck is the difference between "tasks" and "memo pad"? They are both blank pages where you make lists. Would it be the end of civilization as we know it if I titled one of the lists under "memo pad" "tasks"?

And why do I need a map of the world which is so small I would need the Hubble Telescope to read it, and as far as I can tell, they don't name all the countries anyway, so what good is it? But I digress...

Back to the "plan". They were all concerned about the fact that I couldn't get an "upgrade" until my "plan" was up, but they could give me a new blackberry...for $50.

Okay. Once again, fine by me. I'll take the new blackberry. Do I get to choose one from the display?

Well, no, because I have a "plan", "new" doesn't really mean "new", it just means new to me. Just like my old blackberry will be "new" to somebody else who has a "plan" after they slap a fresh coat of paint on it and roll back the odometer.

Since I apparently didn't have a choice without spending $300, I agreed to stay with the "plan" and just get a "new" blackberry...which died this past weekend.

Once again, I had to go back to the store to see if I was still operating under the "plan" or not.

Now, since this is a place where they are selling technology, they have to make it as technologically challenging a place as possible to the customer. First, you have to sign in on a computer screen giving your name, phone number, zip code (why? Would they actually say, "Oh, sorry. You're 20002 and we only cover people who live in 20001?"), and other assorted info such as hat size and date of last dental exam.

Then, you wait for your name to be displayed on a giant screen where you join one of three queues (didn't we win the war against the British so we wouldn't have to use words like this anymore?) depending on what you needed. When your name moves to the top, you get called over to the corresponding desk.

After a twenty minute wait, Iwas called to the tech support desk by a guy who divided his time between checking his own voicemails and reiterating that I was still bound by my "plan" to get a "new" blackberry and not an "upgrade" if my blackberry was indeed broken (did he think I was making it up? that I got my jollies driving miles out of my way to a store to stand in line just for fun?).

Uh uh. Fool me once...

I refused to be bound by the "plan" anymore. I wanted a new blackberry. New meaning brand spanking, direct from China, out-of-the-box new.

Well, okay, but I would need to sign up for a different queue...sales.

Twenty minutes later, I was again confronted by a young man who kept harping on and on about my "plan" which apparently had been chiseled into concrete and signed with blood. As far as I could tell, the D-day plans for the invasion of Normandy were, by comparison, only a group of fairly loose "suggestions".

When was this plan up, I asked. February 3, so if I could just wait a few weeks...

Two weeks without a phone? Sure. Just give me yours to use in the meantime. No? Then how about we get me a "new", "upgraded" phone now!

Obviously wishing to preserve his health and well-being, the guy backed down. Keeping one eye warily on me, he punched a few buttons on his computer and offered me the only upgraded phone available since I needed it to work globally.

And it was...drum roll please...the exact same make and model as the one I had and it would cost me...another drum roll...$109 with a $50 rebate!

Excuse me? $9? $9?! All this fuss and bother about an "upgrade" amounted to $9 and some packing materials? Are you kidding me?

Wisely, he completed the sale without saying the words "upgrade", "new" or "plan" again.

And so I left with my new, upgraded $9 phone. As I ran a few errands, I luxuriated in being able to do e-mails and talk on the phone again.

Until, that is, I discovered that one of the keys is not working properly and was getting worse as I went along...and I had just signed up for another "plan".

The Lady or the Tiger

When I was little, I read a story called "The Lady or the Tiger" in which a young man had to choose one of two doors to open. Behind one was a beautiful woman whom he would immediately wed. Behind the other, a half-starved, man-eating tiger. This week, Verizon was that young man, and they were about to poke the tiger.

Two weeks ago when we lost our phone service, I called Verizon and was told the soonest they could send someone out would be the following Thursday between 8am and 5pm.

Thursday, I received a pre-recorded message saying that regrettably, they were unable to keep the scheduled appointment and would have to reschedule for Friday between 8am and 5pm. They knew my time was valuable, so please make sure that someone was home for the technician in case they needed to get into the house. Honestly, they didn't sound the least bit regretful. Poke, poke.

Nor did it seem like they valued my time if they expected me to sit around for two full days waiting for someone who never showed up.

That's nine hours each day, eighteen hours total that I was supposed to become a prisoner under house arrest by Verizon. 1080 minutes that I obviously had nothing better to do with my time than sit arount waiting for the doorbell to ring and God help me if I happened to be in the bathroom at the time because then they would have to reschedule! Which they did anyway. Poke, poke, poke.

At 5:15 when they failed to show up or even call this time, I called them, and, after yelling, "Agent" into the phone two dozen times, I got to speak with Cherize. She tried to placate me by telling me that the technician was still out, they worked until 7, so my repair would still be done...probably. So why was I told 8-5? What happened if I left at 5 and they came out at, say, 5:01? Did I have to reschedule, or did they come down the chimney like Santa, repair my phone, eat my cookies and hot cocoa and then ascend back up the chimney?

I demanded to speak to a supervisor.

Not even bothering to conceal her relief at getting rid of me, Cherize informed me that she would have one of them call me back within two hours. Pardon me? Call me back? Was she kidding?!!? How many people's lives was Verizon screwing up that a whole team of supervisors was going to be tied up for the next two hours with disgruntled customers? That has to be some kind of record. Big poke.

Well, evidently, they were more screwed up than Cherize realized, because three hours later, I still hadn't been called back. It actually took three days for the supervisor to call me back. But I get ahead of myself.

Friday night, I called back, again, and got someone even less helpful than Cherize, who told me that all the supervisors had gone home for the day.

Gritting my teeth, I asked what hours the supervisors worked. She didn't know.
Well, if she didn't kmow what their hours were, how did she know they'd all gone home? Uh....
Furthermore, if there were no supervisors, who was in charge? Who did she call in case of emergency? Umm...the dispatcher?
So you have a dispatcher who is in charge? No.
Then why would you call her? Because it says to.
Fine. Let me speak to the dispatcher. I can't
Why? I'm supposed to say that a supervisor will call you back.
But they won't. So let me speak to the dispatcher.
They're not in charge. Then who is in charge? Umm...

And so we came full circle. I eventually had to give up, but not before Janelle was as frustated as I was. Huge poke.

By Saturday, I no longer believed anyone would show up, ever, and I was right. At 3:39, I again got the pre-recorded, "we're sorry but... So I called, and this time, wonder of wonders, I actually got a supervisor (a mistake on their part, I'm sure).

No, we were still scheduled for Saturday, she assured me. Then why did I get the recorded message? She didn't know(go figure). Maybe she knew why I'd been bumped for the last three days? Medical emergencies. Really? That many, huh? Fine. I have a medical emergency. If my phone is not fixed, MY HEAD IS GOING TO EXPLODE!!!!! Is that enough of a medical emergency for you?

Apparently, it wasn't, because not only didn't anyone show up on Saturday, they never even scheduled us for Sunday, and when I looked up our trouble ticket online, I found we had been rescheduled for Tuesday!!! Arrgh!!! Enormous, humungous poke.

Monday morning, bright and early, I was once again on the phone. By now, I had talked to Larry, Moe, Curley, Dopey, Unhelpful and Cranky, but I was undaunted.

This new operator told me that I was definitely having my phone repaired that day . Yeah, I'm sure the guy was going to show up...right after Elvis stopped by for a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich.

No, no, she assured me. This was the first day a work ticket actually went out, so we really were on the schedule. The next sound she heard was a loud pop as my head finally exploded.

At 5:30, as I was putting away groceries (no way was I sitting home one more minute), a guy from Verizon knocked on my door. Was it actually the repair guy coming to restore our service? No. It was a member of the sales team canvassing the neighborhood offering a special promotion if we would switch our cable and internet to Verizon along with our phone service.

Guess who he found behind the door. The Lady or the Tiger?

Out Of Touch

Within the last two weeks, I have had issues with pretty much every single communications device I own.

First, it was my blackberry. I never saw it coming. We had just celebrated our first anniversary in June, and I thought everything was fine.

Oh, sure, we'd been having some problems lately. The battery wasn't holding a charge quite like it should, the wheel was a little slow to respond at times, and, okay, so maybe I wasn't getting my messages in a timely fashion any more. But, hey, nobody's perfect.

I tried to overlook these things. After all, we'd been around the world together and had shared so many memories. Our first trip to London and the search for a phone store after the sales woman had put the SYM card in backwards. Our trip to China where it did double duty as both my alarm clock and my only link to Tim who was in India. Our many, many hours of playing BrickBreaker while Tim was busy talking to everyone in the world besides me while we were at dinner/the beach/the pool, in a car/plane/boat. Ahhh. Good times.

But alas, all good things must come to an end, and ours finally came two weeks ago when I dropped my beloved blackberry and watched in horror as the rollarball bounced across the floor after the wheel cracked in two.

Numbly, I gathered up the pieces with trembling fingers while I tried to stifle the wail of despair that had gathered in my throat. Devastated at the thought of losing my dear companion, I sought immediate medical attention with someone who has been through more blackberries in a year than pairs of socks in a lifetime...Tim.

With bated breath, I watched as he managed to snap the pieces back on, but I knew it was only a temporary reprieve. A week later, I had to bow to the inevitable and replace my blackberry...which was easier said than done.

The first three stores did not carry the same model, and, since I have a contract, they could only replace my model with the exact same one...unless I wanted to pay $300. Uh, gee, no thanks.

The fourth store didn't have my model either, but if I waited two months, I could get the newest model which they heard was gonna be real cool. Just like the iphone, only better because it was made by them. Oh, sure, wait two months? No problem. Just give me your phone in the meantime. No? You don't want to be without a phone for two months? Wow. Imagine that!

Finally, I drove downtown (which I really, really, really hate to do) and got a replacement. Without any of my information able to be transferred. Without the ability to send text messages. Which I did not discover until I left the store and was on my way to Pennsylvania.

And so, the following week, I had to go back downtown (did I mention that I really, really, really hate to go there?) and have them fix my new blackberry, which also has a slow wheel and can't hold a decent charge. We were not off to a good start.

While this was going on, I was also having my little "issue" with Verizon (and no, we still don't have service).

And, as if all this wasn't bad enough, my computer is also in critical condition. Even my sister couldn't patch it up, although she spent most of one weekend trying.

The screen has a blue/green line running down the center, the CD drive won't work anymore, every time I use it, I get an error message and, even though I've clicked "report error" until my finger is ready to fall off, microsoft doesn't really care ( I actually think this is just a placebo message, and the only place a message is sent is to the recycle bin). Oh, and it is slower than dial-up. As a matter of fact, I believe pony express would be a faster way to deliver and receive information.

I don't want to do it, especially not so soon after losing my blackberry, but I know I'm going to have to put it out of it's misery. After all, it is over five years old, which is like one thousand in computer years. It has been my good and faithful companion as I learned to surf the net, do a power point presentation and download music for my itunes library. It is keeper of all my information...names, addresses, phone numbers, pictures, videos and documents.

Two dear friends in as many weeks. I may never recover. (Sob!)

And did I mention, I still don't have service for our house phone?

Have A Nice Day

Two days ago, I spotted a Verizon truck in our neighborhood...and we have not had service since.

It started innocently enough. First, there was intermittent static on the line. I blamed the cordless phone that I had left out in the rain. I switched phones. Static was still there. I tried the land line. Static was still there. I blamed the weather conditions outside and waited to see if it was cleared up by yesterday morning. Nope. Still had static. Only now, there was no dial tone either.

So I called Verizon(on my cell phone).

Like everyone else these days, they have an automated system. Now, I always swore that I would not use a computer until it could talk to me like on Star Trek. That day has arrived. A calm, pleasant sounding woman's voice asked me a series of questions that required yes or no answers.

Yes, I wanted the English version. No, I didn't have a question about my billing. Yes, I was calling about a problem with my phone. No, it was not the number I was calling from (duh). Yes, I wanted it fixed (double duh). No, I did not have a dog or locked fence which would present a problem. Yes, I wanted to schedule an appointment(duh again). No, I did not want them to text me updates on the status of my order which I would be charged for (and I'm not paying for days I have no service either, so there. I volunteered that bit of info on my own, but it didn't seem to mean anything to her). Yes, I wanted them to call me the day before the guy came out. (And, yes, my patience was coming to an end).

Before I had a meltdown though (funny, I don't remember the computer on Star Trek being nearly this annoying), Ms. Verizon told me that she would put me on the schedule for a service visit. But first.....

Had I checked to see that it wasn't our phone in the house? I should go around and plug each phone into a different jack to make sure it wasn't the phone. Then, if I still had the problem, I should find the box where the line comes into the house, take a screwdriver, take off the cover and check to see if the problem is there. Oh, but don't do this if it is raining or thundering and lightening. That could be dangerous. YA THINK???

Okay, so basically, after twenty minutes of trying to get someone whose job it is to come out and fix a problem which I'm pretty sure they caused in the first place, I am now supposed to strap on a tool belt and fix it myself to save them the trouble. And what happens if the problem isn't here? Will I then find myself up a pole wearing a hardhat and leather gloves? And am I supposed to do all this while I put them on hold, or should I call back and watch another twenty minutes of my life go down the drain?

Apparently, the automated system doesn't understand when you add a few expletives in with the yes and no answers. They switched me to a live person.

"Donna" (names have been changed to protect the stupid), wanted to know what number I was calling about. Then, I had to verify the name and address on the account to make sure it was really me (do they actually have people who are trying to scam them into fixing other people's phones?). Ms. Verizon hadn't made me do that, but I wasn't about to waste more time questioning someone who probably didn't know the answer anyway and didn't understand sarcasm.

She tried to lead me through the same series of yes and no questions I had already answered, so I cut to the chase: My phone isn't working and I want someone to come out and FIX MY PHONE!!!!! And, no, I am not going to the mainframe and repairing it myself.

Wisely, she moved on. Okay, the first available service tech could come next Thursday. Next Thursday? Next Thursday? As in one week from now? Are you serious? She was serious.

Begging and pleading didn't get me an appointment any sooner either. Neither did telling her that this was the reason why everybody hated the phone company and they were losing customers to Comcast. Or that it was their fault to begin with since we hadn't had any problems before their guy worked in the neighborhood the day before. Apparently, this was nothing she hadn't heard before.

Resigning myself to my fate, I refused her offer of a text message to let me know the status of my job(what is it with these people, do they not charge us enough to use the phone as it is?) and gave her a number where they could reach me if they could come out sooner.

"Is that your home phone or cell?" she asked.

"Seriously?" I asked incredulously. "Do you get why I am calling? It's because my home phone is NOT WORKING!!! If you could call me on my home phone, we would not be having this conversation."

Well, was there another number they could reach me at?

Why? Were you planning to screw up my cell phone too since that is also on the Verizon network?

Then, after a five minute disclaimer on how if the problem wasn't with the mainframe, they would have to charge me for the visit (oh, what a shocker. You've figured out another way to get more money out of me. Tell me, what is the cost difference between having your guy fix it as opposed to me fixing it myself? Is there any difference? I'm guessing there isn't.), she wished me a good day.

Too late.

Service With a Smile

I have come to the conclusion that people in the service industry fall into either one of two basic categories: surly, embittered miscreants who make Oscar the Grouch look like Mother Theresa, or bubbly, over-enthusiastic do-gooders who are a cross between Mr. Rogers and Cheerleader Barbie.

After dealing extensively with both, I have decided that I definitely prefer Type One.

They make no pretense of trying to help or even understand the problem. I know that when I am done talking to them, I will need to crack open a fresh bottle of Advil and eat lots of ice cream to lower my blood pressure (Really. It is a scientific fact. Although, they probably don't mean you should eat the whole half gallon in one sitting.).

I feel justified in hopping on my broom and borrowing liberally from Don Rickles stand-up act. And when it is all over, I know that the person I am dealing with is just as aggravated and ticked off as I am.

I feel vindicated and somewhat satisfied.

And then there are the type twos.

They want to be my friend and share with me. They explain, in excruciatingly painful detail, everything. They pretend to be my advocate, my mentor and my therapist all rolled into one. Insults bounce off their cotton candy wall of niceness like a rubber ball off concrete. They are always calm and reasonable.

Which makes me just itch to slap them.

Like the Verizon guy.

After talking to six, count 'em six type ones,who kept transferring me because they couldn't be bothered to actually help me, I got Mr. Verizon.

"Of course, I'll be able to help you," he enthused. "But first, let me give you my direct dial so if you ever need anything, you can just pick up the phone and I'll be there for you."

Great. And can you do it without sounding like a really bad commercial from 1955?

"Oh, I see the problem. Your credit card expires next month and you haven't entered the new info yet," he gently chided me.

"Yes, I know," I gritted out, "but I haven't received the new card yet and that doesn't explain why my automatic payment scheduled for tomorrow won't go through."

"Weeeell. By golly, you're right," he responded, unfazed by my less than friendly tone. "Let me see..."

I could hear him humming a happy little tune as he clicked merrily away on his computer.

Grrrr.

"You know, it can take a full month after you register for the automatic payments to start," he explained as though I were a particularly slow two year old. "It says that right on the site when you sign up."

"Yes, I know," I snapped. "I signed up two months ago, and everything was working fine until now."

"Uh oh. I see the problem now," he crooned. So do I, and I'm talking to it. "It looks like you switched the last two digits on your credit card when you entered it." He actually make a tsk-tsk sound!

"Oh really?" That was it. The gloves were coming off. "Then maybe you can explain to me how the payments went through for the last two months without a problem? Did you perhaps give me two months free, or did someone there pay it out of the goodness of their heart, just to be a nice guy? And, by the way, I have more than one phone on that card and amazingly those charges went through just fine too. How do you explain that?"

As I paused for a quick breath before I finished eviscerating him, he jumped in.

"Well now," he said using the tone of voice one uses when confronting a rabid dog, "I don't know how you're mistake got through like that, but don't you worry. I've fixed it so you won't have this problem again."

My mistake? My mistake? My mistake???!!!

I think I may have actually blacked out for a moment there, because when I came to, he was thanking me for calling and telling me to make sure to call him when I got my new card so that he could change the expiration date for me.

Yeah. I don't think so. That is one mistake I won't be repeating.

Welcome to the Bahamas

After all the aggravation at the airport, we arrived in the Bahamas to...crystal clear, blue skies? endless sunshine? a gentle carribbean breeze wafting inland from the ocean?

Nope. Dark, threatening skies, one hundred and ten percent humidity, and a car whose driver had the air on so high, I was thinking more of long johns and hot coffee than I was of bathing suits and frozen, tropical drinks!

"Don't worry," Tim joked, as I grumbled and huddled into my jacket trying to keep the frostbite at bay,"this is the Bahamas. If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes!"

Five minutes later, it was raining. Five minutes after that, it was pouring. I was not amused.

Apparently thinking Tim could use some moral support, the driver chimed in, telling us how lucky we were that we hadn't come during the last two weeks because it had rained every day(as opposed to the liquid sunshine that was presently coming down?)

Of course, he continued, in August there was less chance of that happening, but then you had hurricanes blowing through. Still, it was better than January or February when it got kind of chilly.

I wondered why the tourism board hadn't snapped this guy up as head of their PR department.

Out of sheer self-defense, I decided to turn on my blackberry and call everyone I know before I got the weather report for the remaining months.

Three bars. A good signal. I punched in my parents' number, only to get a recording saying that I was not authorized to use the system. Hmm. Interesting. I guess world-wide service includes France, which is seven hours and entire ocean away, but not the Bahamas, which is only two hours and a tiny bit of ocean away.

I decided to put my vast technological knowledge to work. I turned the phone off, then on again. Still not authorized. I punched a few buttons, took out the battery and reinserted it. Once again, not authorized, and I was pretty much at the limits of my computer expertise.

Sensing my growing frustration (perhaps the bulging veins in my neck coupled with the clenched teeth clued him in), Tim pried the blackberry out of my hands and went through essentially the same process, adding a few more steps. This time...no service!

To add insult to injury, not only was Tim's blackberry working, but so was his cell phone, which had Verizon as the provider, same as my blackberry. Now it was personal.

By this time, we had reached the hotel. Naturally, our rooms weren't ready (based on our day so far, I would have been shocked if they were), so we settled in to the lounge to watch the rain pound down on the beach where by now we should have been two degrees into our third degree burns.

Deciding to put our down time to good use, I borrowed Tim's blackberry and called Verizon to see if they could help me. Fat chance.

A perky-voiced service rep answered the phone. "Okay," she said. "Turn off the phone and take out the battery." Gee, I hadn't thought of that, good thing you are there. "Still not working? Let's punch some buttons." Half an hour later, she wasn't quite so perky, and transfered me to tech support. And the rain kept coming down.

"Okay, turn off the phone..." Uh, uh. I wasn't falling for that again. And so another half hour was sucked out of my vacation, and I still wasn't authorized to use the system. Not to worry, this woman assured me, she would fill out a trouble ticket and someone would get back to me within twenty-four hours. Usually. Probably. Maybe. Or not.

Yeah, and the rain would stop soon. Probably. Maybe. Or not.