Automated Madness

“All right,” says Mechanical Man in a cheery halting voice. “To get started please say or enter the number you are talking about.”

I say my number.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand. Please….” I repeat the number. We do it a third time.

Then I punch in the numbers.

“Tell me the purpose of your call in a few words. Like I need to change my phone service. Or I want new phone service.”

“Change order.”

“Would you like to cancel, change or review your order?”

“Change.”

“I’m sorry first you must pay your overdue bill.”

“I don’t owe any money.”

“Pardon.” Silence. “Let me access your records. Yes, your account is paid in full.”

“I know.” I am screaming at Mechanical Man.

“Pardon? I did not understand. Would you like to speak to a customer service representative about your account?”

“Yes.”

“Please hold.”

I hold. I hear nothing. I cuss under my breath just hoping those friendly little recording devices are recording my customer dissatisfaction. Then I hear beep, beep, beep, beep.

I slam down the phone and try again. I do this six times. Six times. Mechanical Man tells me I have called many times before. “Is this about an unresolved issue?”

You bet your sweet….

Finally, after going through the can’t-help-you-till-you-pay-your-bill-and-yep-your-bill-is-paid-in-full cycle again (now we’re on call number seven), I finally get through. “Hello, Collections. How may I help you?”

Agggghhhhh!

“I don’t owe money. The system says I owe money and then says I don’t owe money and then transfers me to you.”

“You don’t owe money.”

“I know!”

“I’ll transfer you to customer service.”

Fast forward ten minutes later—yes, ten minutes! “Hello, how may I help you?” says Rude Phone Guy.

“I need to cancel a work order I made yesterday.”

“Sorry, ma’am. You can’t do that. You have to let them come out and install and then cancel. You will not be charged.”

Was I hearing this right? “Are you sure,” I kept asking. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Yes ma’am. I’m sure. Call us after it’s installed.” Eventually I consent. I tell Rude Phone Guy to transfer me. (Maybe I should call him Saving Your Company Lots of Money Guy instead.) He does.

I have more than one piece of business to handle with this conglomerate.

“May I help you?” Sweet Internet Lady says.

Finally, a nice person of good cheer who seems interested in being helpful. She cancels my order and goes so far as to give me special tips so that I wouldn’t be penalized later. How nice. Then she says, “Have I done everything possible to serve you in the best way?”

I mumble “Yes” in a grumpy, irritated voice. I’m thinking to myself if she ONLY knew. She doesn’t because I don’t tell her. I am tired of talking.

“You may be called later and asked about your experience. Please let them know how pleased you are.”

Sure.

I have one more step to complete this day before being fully disentangled from my worst nightmare. What the hell had I been thinking? The Sign Up Guy I had talked to the previous day was GOOD. Even though he couldn’t see me, he knew I had sucker written all over my face. I am wondering why I have to talk to three different people when smooth Sign Up Guy did it all for me with one magic press of a key.

I call the final number. Surprisingly, a real person comes on line quickly. No Mechanical Guy for this bunch. I only have to wait about three minutes. Talk about excitement! I start talking. I start explaining. I want to disconnect! Yes, disconnect.

“What’s your name?”

“Allyn.”

“You’re not Greg?”

“I’m his wife.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, you can’t order the disconnect because the account is not in your name,” says Nasty Satellite Guy.

“I made the initial order—just yesterday. What do you mean I can’t cancel it?”

“Sorry. You can’t.”

I argue. It doesn’t help.

Dang, I think. Now I get the pleasure of calling my husband and telling him he gets to call and cancel an order he never made. He’s going to love this. He especially loves being pulled into dramas not of his own making. Don’t we all? So I tell this guy. “He’s going to be so mad about this.” Like Nasty Satellite Guy really cares.

“We’re open 24/7 for your convenience,” he says.

“My convenience would be if you’d let me cancel this service.” And I can’t stop. I have been at this all morning. Mechanical Man, Rude Phone Guy, Sweet Internet Lady and now Nasty Satellite Guy. “My husband’s going to be so mad,” I keep saying. And then I do something I just don’t do. I unleash on Nasty Satellite Guy. Hours and hours of pent-up frustration come pouring out. Heck, I think he even gets a little of the previous week’s anger. At first he argues back, which I find odd. Then he stops. Finally my tirade passes. I have the last word. I hang up.

A few days later, we decide to cancel a program we have with a major credit card company. Again, I am not Greg and again they refuse to talk to me despite the fact that a person named Greg had called in and given them permission to talk to me. It is on record.

“Sorry, ma’am. Canceling the card is not covered under the permission.”

I hold my breath.

This time I refuse to pull my hubby into the drama. I sat down and wrote a letter. I ask for the account to be cancelled and sign it Greg.

Guess what? The notice of cancellation arrived in the mail today. In the note is included the request signed by none other than Greg. NOT. I feel like calling Mechanical Man