Monthly Archives: June 2004

more AT&T fun…

You know, maybe I should call this the AT&T blog, seeing as I talk to them regularly and am on a nickname basis with 82% of their representatives. For example, on my most recent call I learned that Raoul has a huge crush on Jenny in cubicle 5, but is afraid to ask her out for fear of being rejected by Jenny’s 6 foot 5 280 pound boyfriend.

But before I learned that, I went through a dishearteningly familiar process involving non-intelligent IVRs and even more non-intelligent CSRs. My call went something like this (note: I am not making over 96% of this up):

Mysterious IVR Voice (MIV): “Thank you for calling AT&T. If you need help in Spanish, please learn English and call back so we can speak to you in Hindi.”

[Pause, I imagine to allow frantic searching of the Spanish-English-Hindi dictionary.]

MIV: “Please enter or say your ten-digit wireless number now.”

Me (Me): [Presses keys. Like I’m dumb enough to think the MIV can understand me if I talk? Riiiight.]

MIV: “Okay, now I can help you if you say things like ‘I want to pay my bill,’ or ‘Technical Assistance.'”

Me [Sighing heavily, realizing I must speak at this point]: “I want to–“

MIV: “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Me: “I didn’t finish what I—“

MIV: “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Me: “Why you–“

MIV: “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. Please wait while I transfer you to a customer service representative. But first, please enter or say the last four digits of your social security number, your five-digit zip code, and the 376,435th digit of pi.”

Me: [Inputs random numbers]

MIV: “Thank you. Your call is very important to us. All of our representatives are currently assisting other customers”–teaching them seppuku, I’m certain–“and your current expected wait time is over 30 minutes.”

Me: “Of course it is.”

So I wait for a while, listening to music that should get cancer and die, and every 30 seconds I hear, “Your call is important blah blah blah.” Finally, CSR number 1 picks up.

CSR 1: “Thanks for choosing AT&T, my name is [mumbles so I won’t be able to indentify him later]. We really appreciate your business. How can I help you today?”

I explain that my minute usage is still being displayed incorrectly on their web site, despite 17 previous calls to customer service and 17 previous promises to correct the problem. He asks for my name, my phone number, my address, my social security number, and other information that I have already given to the IVR. After several minutes of going “Hm…” and breathing heavily, he informed me that he would have to transfer me to another representative because he was too incompetent to do his job. The wait time, I was assured, would be hideously long.

After another long listen to some happy muzak, CSR number 2 answers. I say I have a question about my usage. She said, and I quote, “I’m sorry, our systems are currently updating and we cannot access anyone’s account at the moment. You can call back later or I can transfer you. Maybe by the time someone else picks up the systems will be updated.”

After another eternity in hell, CSR number 3 picks up. After asking for my phone number (which, if you’re keeping track at home, I had given twice already), she said, “Oh, you have a GSM account. I need to transfer you to the GSM department.”

And finally, six hours later, CSR number 4, “Raoul,” answers. After giving my information for the 32nd time and explaining the situation, Raoul “investigates” the situation while telling me all about Jenny and her womanly wiles. I pressed the issue of my minutes usage, and eventually Raoul told me that the web site was new and so it might not be “categorizing” the minutes “correctly.” I would probably be billed incorrectly, too, and have to call back in to get a credit. Incidentally, would I like a free seppuku kit?

I thanked him for my time, and told him to go after Jenny. After all, I noted, you never know when or where true love will strike. My hope is square on the nose, and maybe a kick or two in the crotch.

a licky boom boom what?

Last night I was torn between watching Flight of the Navigator and VH1’s 50 Most Awesomely Bad Songs. So I settled for a bit of both.

I watched VH1 long enough to see 10 or 11 songs played and commented on. My favorite comment of the night referred to Butterfly by Crazy Town, and is as follows:

“The first 7000 times you hear this song you think, ‘What a bad song!’ Then the next time you hear it, you realize it’s not a bad song. It’s a [expletive deleted] atrocious song!”

Referring to the same song:

“These have to be, word for word, the worst lyrics ever written.”

My favorite song of the night was Informer by Snow. I had totally forgotten about this song until I heard it last night. I distinctly remember thinking it was cool when I was a kid, and my feelings haven’t changed. Any white boy that has the guts to write a song like this, much less perform it, has my respect. So what if no one understands a freakin’ word he’s saying? It gives me hope for my own songwriting future.

In fact, in Snow’s honor, I’ve penned some incomprehensible lyrics of my own. Read them out loud, and mumble exaggeratedly, like Bob Dylan but more stoned. It’s fun!

— snip snip snip —

callin’ keyboard keyboard monitor mouse me DVD
I go to DVD town eat some waffles on my way eat
a keyboard surfboard boardwalk don’t advance to go
it’s a back you take take you back spaces by the 3 jump
jailbird double roll
jelly doughnut roll slurp up slurpee date

on my tv spaceship ship on the water boat
story of the garbage can puppet in the basement
baseboard snowboard shuffleboard use a fancy stick
good sport sporting goods shoes me head on are butterlovers
soda popsicle juicy sweet a promise lick
short snort pants number sixteen in hole put a monkey cow

— snip snip snip —

I just need a few more verses, a drum solo, a cool foreign accent, and a record label. I can’t wait till someone calls my song [expletive deleted] atrocious.

flight of the haiku-igator…. thing.

I must say again, that I hate Internet Explorer. But more to the point, a finally figured out a good–well, better–look for the haiku hut, and there’s even a new haiku to celebrate, called rhetorical.

You know, I read Paul Simon’s lyrics and I get shivers down my spine. I get goosebumps. Goosebumps, I say! I also get insanely jealous, because he can write amazingly good poetry, and I crank out stuff like, well, the stuff I crank out (or haven’t for the last two years… whatever). I really want to write some new stuff, and I just can’t find anything. It bites, but at least I get to call AT&T again today… that’ll provide some good comedic fodder, I’m certain.

I know, I could write a haiku about not being able to write anything for the poetism plaza:

simon is so good
grassmonk has severe blockage
whatever to do?

(For you out there who thought I could write no bad haiku, I think I just proved you wrong. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. Sigh…)

Also of note is that today realizes the long-anticipated release of a classic movie from my childhood: Flight of the Navigator. By the time I read this again I’ll probably have it in hand, wondering if it’s going to live up to my memories of it.

My parents taped the move off the Disney channel what seems eons ago, and I remember watching it over and over and over again, but somehow I remember little about the actual plot. Oh, I know the vague outline: kid goes for a walk in the woods, falls into the Cracks of Doom, and wakes up eight years later. His family’s older–his little brother is now his older brother, and Pee-Wee Herman is trapped inside a flying saucer, presumably hiding out while trying to contact his lawyer. But I can’t even remember if the kid actually gets to go back in time and reunite with his family. For a movie I probably wore out on an old VHS tape, I find that a little disturbing.

Then again, since I remember so little, it’ll be hard not to live up to my memories. Expectations, though–that’s another matter altogether. I hope those aren’t dashed against the rocks of, um, sharp shredding-ness. Or, more poetically:

expectations killed
dashed against sharp shredding rocks
bye bye my high hopes

I kill me.