I recently changed wireless providers from Verizon to AT&T. I was happy with my service right up to the point where I actually had to speak to an AT&T representative in an attempt to decipher the hieroglyphical encoding used to display my monthly usage on their site.
But before I could actually speak to a representative, I had to dial the customer service number, navigate the poorly designed menu system, and submit information concerning the last time I changed my underpants at least three different times. Once I had satisfied the curiosity of the IVR–and after it laughed at me in a most sinister fashion–I was at last transferred to the Hold Music. It was like watching Hellboy, but without the tremendous benefit of… well, it was exactly like watching Hellboy.
After an eternity of “Please hold; your call is very important to us (if you live in one of three randomly selected major metropolitan areas)…” Decoder Boy picked up the phone. The conversation went downhill from there.
Him: “Hello, thank you for calling AT&T Wireless. My name is Decoder Boy. How may I help you today?”
Me: “Yeah, I’m trying to look at my usage on your web site and it’s a bit confusing.”
Him: “OK, can I get your wireless number please?”
Me: “Um, I gave it to the IVR three times. Don’t you have it?”
Him: “Yeah, funny things, IVRs. So, I’ll need that number, your mother’s maiden name, and–“
Me: “The last time I changed my underpants?”
Him: “So you know the drill. Usually customers have to call in several times before we can train them properly.”
Me: [gives information] “So, I’m looking at these minute reports, and–“
Him: “Well, actually, um… Sorry, but I’ve lost my secret decoder ring and so we’re just going to have to wing this one.”
Me: “Uh huh. Okay… so do you want to get a new ring or something?”
Him: “Nah, I’m good. I’ve been here all of five minutes. How much could I not know by this time?”
Stunned silence filled my general area, threatening to suffocate me.
After several minutes passed in this fashion, I came to the conclusion that my plan had been set up wrong and I had accumulated about $60 in overage charges in the past week, due to an error courtesy AT&T and its generous army of decoderless-ring gnomes.
Me: “So will I be charged for these fees that were, in fact, completely and totally, without question, your fault?”
Him: “Oh, of course. But when you get your first bill you can call in and they should be waived.”
Me: “So are you going to fix the plan setup so this doesn’t happen again?”
Him: “Oh, you didn’t want to have excess charges?”
Me: “Let’s pretend that I’m from another planet where excess charges are bad, and–“
Him: “You’re from another planet? Wow!”
Me, realizing that make-believe is a concept they must cover in advanced training chez AT&T: “Yes, I’m from another planet, and my civilization is so much more advanced than yours that I can make your spleen explode from here, just by thinking about it. I don’t want to do that, so why don’t you just fix the error, hm?”
Him: “Okay, but please don’t explode my spleen!”
I promised not to on the condition that my superiors would authorize it. Hey, they lie, I lie.