Monday, September 08, 2008

The World Goes to Hell in a Handbasket

I've had quite a frustrating weekend which revolves around customer service, or should I say, the lack thereof. I have had heated discussions with numerous Comcast employees, trying to find someone who could correct an error that they made. It took me weeks just to get Comcast to even acknowledge the mistake, much less correct it. In a nutshell, we dropped our landline on July 7th because we don't need the extra expense when everyone in the house, except Mr. Wapkaplet, has a cell phone. The monthly bill is autodrafted so I didn't realize that I had been paying for a phone line that I hadn't had for two months. When I realized this, I merely wanted to be credited...that's all, just credit to my account for the cancelled service.

These people are wacko. Idiots. Maroons.

First guy I talked to says yes, my phone service was cancelled on July 7th but to ACTUALLY be issued a credit, I have to GO TO the Comcast office.

"Huh?" (pretend you're me...right now your mouth is hanging open)

"Yes, man. In order to actually have the charge for the phone service REMOVED from your account and be issued a credit, you have to do it in person, at the office."

"Really? How come the girl I spoke to on July 7th didn't mention this vital piece of information to me? And how is it that you can disconnect my service with the touch of a buTTon, but you can't credit my account for a service that I haven't had for two months and HAVE BEEN PAYING FOR DURING THOSE TWO MONTHS?"

"Ma'm, I'm just telling you how this needs to be handled. I can't help you."


Fine. Three weeks later, I finally find the time to drive to Comcast and I'm pissed. Gustav is heading our way and it's been raining for three solid days. When I arrive, of course, there is a line out the door with similar irate customers, like myself.

I wait, ever so patiently. My patience was not rewarded. A woman who looked like she needed to have something removed from her buttocks, told me that I would NOT get a credit because I still have a phone.

"Huh?" (pretend you're me except this time, your mouth isn't hanging open and you have that bitch tone in your voice)

"Yes, mam. We're showing you never cancelled your service and the phone is still on."

Tap. Tap. Tap. The lady (and I use this term MOST loosely, is making this sound with her pen on her desk while she stares at me as if we are 'bout to throw down)

"No, mam. You are mistaken. I cancelled that service on July 7th and merely want my credit APPLIED TO MY ACCOUNT!"

"Mam, I can't help you until you turn in your modem at which point, you will be issued a different modem, at which point, your phone will be terminated as of that day."

"Really? Return the modem? Even though I still have Internet with you halfwits? The phone is TURNED OFF! THERE IS NO DIAL TONE! How come no one told me I had to turn in the modem the first TWO TIMES I CALLED?"

"Mam, please calm down and move aside. I have told you all I can do at this point and what YOU need to do to correct the situation."

Imagine her looking so annoyed with me, the pitiful victim, and imagine her whiny, condescending voice as she sends me away. Then imagine me smashing my hulk fist through the plexi-glass shield that separates us and ripping out her thin, whiny, vocal chords! No, that didn't happen, but welcome to my mind.

This story could take all day, so I'll condense. I did eventually get my credit. But only after I threatened to cancel my service completely and THEN find every employee of Comcast and sew their ass-cheeks together after I've shoved massive doses of Ex-Lax down their whiny throats.

But I must share with you the last conversation that I had with the Comcast drone before I got to the sweet, kind young lady who helped me.

"This is Doris, can I help you?"

"Yes, mam. I cancelled my phone service on July 7th and have been paying for this service for two months, still shows up on my newest bill, so I just need to have this resolved and have a credit issued to my account."

"I see. (type, type, clickity, clickity frickin' clack) Mam, I show no record of your service being disconnected. You are being charged for this service because you still have this service."

"No...I don't. I have not had a dial tone as of July 7th when I called and cancelled this service. Don't you show that in your records? WHEN YOU CALL THAT NUMBER YOU GET A RECORDING THAT SAYS THE NUMBER HAS BEEN DISCONNECTED OR IS NO LONGER IN SERVICE! WANNA KNOW WHY, HUH, DO YA, DO YA? BECAUSE I CANCELLED IT! CALL IT! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE CALL IT! I WANT MY CREDIT!"

"Mam, please calm down. There's no need to shout. Have you contacted our service department to see why it is that you don't have a dial tone?"

I kid you not. That's exactly what she said. It was then that I lost complete control of my bladder and all rational thought. The paramedics later found me lying in the parking lot, muttering something about the wrath of Gustav and the evils of digital phone service.

Tomorrow: The sad, sad story of how the Texas Street Tavern royally screwed me shortly after my release from the 8th floor.