Verizon Part 2

7:00 P.M. Andrew makes a call to Verizon.

Wait, wait, back up. That's not actually where the story starts. Sorry? You called on the 18th. Oh, you're right.

Something June 18th.

Andrew makes a phone call to Verizon.

Tech: I'm just going to run a diagnostic test.

M: Sounds good.

Tech: Everything is okay. I'm just going to need to get remote access to your computer for this next step to make sure you don't have any viruses.

M: Okay buddy. I've got nothing to hide. Note to users: Whenever you call Verizon make sure to use speaker phone, so you can do whatever the hell you want while they move you around to different useless parts of the phone tree. I think they must have a manual that they all have to read of how to enrage customers. I mean really, it's astounding. I think that the company is actually just a front for a large group psychological experiment that's testing the limits of America's rage. It's pretty much that show Punk'd on MTV, but instead of Austin Kucher popping out at the end, you just get disconnected after forty minutes of being shuttled between people's computers/phones that don't actually communicate with each other.

Tech: It looks all right. I'm just going to run a line test for the next 7 days to see if can find the problem.

M: This was relatively painless.

Three days pass. The Internet works for about thirty seconds then shuts off for ten minutes before working again in a thirty second burst.

M: We need someone to fix our Internet.

Tech: I can see you've had a lot of line problems.

M: (And I didn't even have to hold. These guys are turning over a new leaf. They are like one of those rich old men who have like five ex-wives from when they were younger and giant d-bags but have now mellowed out and that sixth wife is enjoying it/waiting for the day he kicks it and they collect.

Tech: Oh yes, sir. This is broken. LET ME OPEN UP A TICKET. THE TICKET IS OPEN, I just need to confirm with somebody in scheduling.

Time passes.

Tech: Okay sir, I can schedule you for an appointment tomorrow.

M: Have I died and gone to customer service heaven?

Tech: What?

M: Nothing. What are you wearing?

Tech: What?

M: Sorry, wrong number.

S informs me that she has a conference call and I hop right back on the phone tree one hour later.

I adroitly use a different menu option to reach the scheduling department. Fifteen minutes pass in which they play that Verizon count down music and then mention how I can turn off my modem to fix the problem. I read a story/consider the chances that voodoo is actually a functional way of harming people and begin to construct a Verizon struck from a piece of dental floss, a lined piece of paper, and an old Pottery Barn magazine.

After fifteen minutes I get through.

Schdul: Can I have that account number.

M: You mean the one I just used to access my account an hour ago? Sure.

Schdul: (A long pause) I read a story/reach over to grab a book and shatter a glass on the Pergo flooring. Normally I blame everything on the communists, but I'm chalking this one up to Verizon, and I expect them to take the amount out of my next bill. "I'm sorry ma'am (after telling him the account was in S's name he totally ignored the tenor of my voice and referred to me as Ma'am for the duration of the call, which greatly aided my patience let me tell you) I cannot access the account."

M: Awesome. Try again.

Tech: (After several more failed attempts he finally logs in). Do you have phone service with Verizon.

M: Listen man, I just need to reschedule an appointment that I made an hour ago. I just need to reschedule.

Tech: Can you confirm the type of modem you have Ma'am.

M: Are you f-ing with me?

Tech: I am sorry ma'am but you have an aesthetically unpleasing face. It lacks symmetry.

M: What?

Tech: Nothing. Ma'am, can you confirm your home number?

M: Okay.

Tech: (Long Pause) In which I imagine alternatively throttling the tech/everyone who works at the company in a very Christian way. "Sir, I cannot make an appointment for you because you DO NOT HAVE AN OPEN TICKET."

M: Uhm. That's not what the last guy said.

Tech: That guy? He was just shining you on. Actually: "Ma'am, I cannot make an appointment without an open ticket."

M: (At what point should I tell him I'm a dude/this is the greatest episode of Punk'd ever. No ticket open. This is even better than that episode of Girls Behaving Badly (reality show people) where the pretty women claim that they've dropped their ovaries and get men to search for them on the sidewalk).

Tech: I'm sorry Ma'am but you have no open ticket.

M: Can I just get a new appointment. I don't care about the ticket. Just make me a new appointment.

Tech: We cannot make an appointment without an open ticket.

M: So you're telling me I need to be transferred?

I listen to the Verizon guy click through the exact same menu that I had to and then I am put on hold. This hold last for fifteen minutes and is just long enough for S to accuse me of not doing dishes.

M: I'm on the phone.

S: You're reading a book.

M: It could ring at any moment.

S: It won't.

Finally the call rings through.

Tech: How can I help you?

M: I need to open a ticket.

Tech: What is your account number?

M: I will rip out your entrails and eat them in front of you? Do you understand me?

Tech: Can you repeat that number?

M: Okay.

Tech...Disconnected.

Time of Call 41:02.
Goal: To change an appointment from Tuesday to Wednesday.
Total Verizon people spoken to: 2.
Result of Goal: Utter and disastrous failure.

Join me and others like me in migrating from Verizon to RCN. They probably suck, but they can't suck that bad? Can they/I can't wait to see this episode of you just got Punk'd by someone at Verizon named Jay putting on a faux Indian accent. It's going to be great.

Update from 6/22
Verizon Tech from non-existent ticket calls about the appointment.

Tech: Actually, I notice this time slot is supposed to be from 6-7, but I actually get off work at 4. Can I reschedule?

M: You want to reschedule the appointment that I don't have because even if I did have the appointment you're changing it?

Tech: Yeah. How about Friday?

M: Yeah. Let's do Friday.

Fiction

Shana and I are in Italy: twenty-eight, unmarried, drinking and sad, still young enough to believe people should stay in love. We’re at a party in the San Vitale Quarter of Bologna with newly minted friends, the sort you make when you are traveling, saving money on food and spending it on alcohol. Our new friends are good looking blonds from some Nordic country we’d never visit. If we’ve learned anything in our eight years together, it’s that we both hate the cold.


I’m standing against a grey wall beneath a print of Reuben’s Samson and Delilah and watching the nylon covered legs of women pass through the artificial light of the patio. I am in a sea of unfamiliar faces, and everyone is speaking a language I don’t understand. It feels as though I have returned from space to find the whole world changed.