Thursday, January 06, 2005

Goddamn 800-numbers!

When I call a customer service line, I would probably be better off trying to explain the Theory of Relativity to a retarded kid. I've been on the phone with four different company's customer service departments in the past week or so and, Jesus Christ, now I know where those kids who had to go to the continuation high school end up working.

I've been trying to port my cell phone number over from AT&T to Sprint for over a day now. Oh my god. It's like trying to get a peace treaty between Israel and Palestine, but harder and with surprisingly more suicide bombings. One of the guys that I spoke with at AT&T should probably never talk on the phone, ever. Shouldn't it be a prerequisite at a place where all you do is talk on the phone all day, that people be able to understand you? I almost had to switch over to that deaf telephone thing just to understand a goddamn word he was saying.

People in customer service hate to divulge any information, too. For instance, at AT&T, my contract is up January 20th and I've paid it all and want to switch my number over to Sprint. Well, it took a half an hour for me to explain to the boy on the other end of the line that, according to AT&T's policies, if I wanted to port my number over without the early cancellation fee of $175 I'd have to go into the next billing cycle, which isn't right. Then he said that as long as I'm close to the last day of my cycle, since I've paid it all through, thus fulfilling my contract, I won't be charged the fee. Then I asked why I couldn't just switch now, to which he said that it was just better to wait. Finally he said that there's a 30-day window in which I can cancel and not be billed the cancellation fee. Why the hell can't they just say that stuff up front and not waste a half hour on the phone? I really want to go down to any customer service department and just pour glass upon glass of my own urine, which I've been saving up for three years, on all their books that tell them what to say. It's like talking to a robot with a hearing problem and a speech impediment. Coincidentally, I will be executive producing a show on the UPN this fall about a robot with just such an ailment. It's called "Hmall Hwunda," and will air Tuesdays right after reruns of "Shasta McNasty."

Finally, to top off all this fun, I got a zit on my nose yesterday, but it's no ordinary zit. It's one of those below-the-surface bastards. It turned my nose red and swollen, like a dog's lipstick. I kind of look like Boris Yeltsin right now. The worst part, though, is that it's so goddamn swollen that, as a result of all the blood that's flowing through it, I've got a headache. I promise you that the two are tied together. It's pulling all the blood from my brain into the tip of my nose. It's feeding off of it. I'll probably be dead soon.

Interesting thought of the day:
I'm going to start a Fortune Cookie company that only puts insults inside their cookies. Sample texts are: "Hey, Fatty. This won't be your first or last fortune cookie. We all know it." and "Other people look to you to make themselves feel better. So...thanks."

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