I know everyone has a story about calling Customer Service. Fortunate for you, mine doesn’t involve someone from the Phillipines or India or wherever, because those stories get old. Instead, my story begins and almost ends with Helen, a New Yorker.
I called Charter because my internet wasn’t working – it was connecting to the Network but I couldn’t surf? It had just worked before I went out of town, and I thought that maybe the snow from our global warming Asheville winter had messed something up while I was gone. I pressed “1” for English, tried to enter some account number that I didn’t know, and then proceeded to scream “Agent” at the automated woman whose name I didn’t catch. She kept replying “So, I think I understand what your problem is…” Clearly, she didn’t because I had to scream “Agent” about 3 more times before I heard good ole Helen’s fresh, cheery Big Apple accent. Helen was super nice – we were on a first name basis within a couple of minutes…the start of any great relationship, right?
Helen asked me lots of questions, but basically guided me through the process of unplugging the cable cord from the modem and plugging it directly into my computer…she said that we should bypass the router…I thought that this was odd, because I now had a cable cord that was connecting my computer and the router…so, how the hell was that BYPASSING the router?! But anyway, the internet still didn’t work, obviously. Then, she asked about the lights on my modem, and I told her that the first 3 weren’t flashing.
She quickly replied, “Oh, Lauren, that is not good, not good at all. Let me get a tech.” Sure Helen. She gets back on the phone after like 5 seconds, so I’m guessing “the tech” was snuggled between her inner thighs or something.
Then she says, “You’ve got a modem problem. That’s an old modem Lauren. You’re gonna have to go get a new one.” She also rattled off all these numbers that apparently described the model of my ancient modem…she reads well basically.
I said, “Well, that sucks Helen. Thanks for your help.”
She finished with a chipper, “No problem, Lauren, and tell your stepmom to upgrade you guys to Plus speed.”
I closed with a “Sure thing,” knowing damn well that my internet speed did not need upgrading and I hate that Helen had to try to sell me something at the end of our seemingly genuine relationship.
I hung up the phone feeling dejected, but knowing that I needed the internet BAAAAAD…for blogging, getting season stats, posting pictures of my cute dog, and WEBCAM WEBCAM WEBCAM, my savior. So, I decided to call back just in case Helen maybe missed the class on bypassing the router.
After going through the “1”, “Agent,” “Agent,” “Agent” process, I got Trisha on the phone. I felt a little pang of sadness when Trisha and I became first-name basis buddies so quickly, because it made me feel like mine and Helen’s relationship was so meaningless…but, my eagerness to get internet superseded the sadness, and I pushed forward. While I was explaining my problem to Trisha, I tried to undo all of the juicy goodness that Helen had done during our brief interaction so I could start from scratch. As I was telling Trisha about Helen and the lights on the modem and all that jazz, the Google page magically appeared on my computer screen. I thought it was a trick, so I typed in espn.com and saw some Duke Puke player.
That’s when I laughed and said, “Trisha, I don’t think Helen knew what she was talking about.”
Trisha awkwardly responded, “Ok Lauren, what do you mean by that?”
“Well, my internet appears to be functioning normally, the lights are on my modem, and it’s all happening by doing the opposite of what Helen said to do.”
In a very politically correct tone, Trisha announced that she was pleased my internet was working. At this point, I was laughing internally at the whole experience, and decided that I would finish my stellar Customer Service phone call without filtering.
So, I said, “Yeah Trisha, me too. And do me a favor, if you happen to run into Helen, tell her to step up her game.”
Trisha mustered up a half-assed chuckle and said “Have a good night, Lauren.”
I hung up the phone with Talia in the background cackling like it was the first time she had laughed all day – that pretty much means she was heaving. I think it was the best I have ever felt after a Customer Service phone call…and then I lost Mr. Carson for 30 minutes in the pitch black night and fake Asheville blizzard, panicked, and realized that I needed to step up my parenting game. That little shit killed my buzz.
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