Dear Cell Phone Company:
I pay you lots of money. Money I don’t have. Money that should go toward feeding the cats or maybe even me one of these days. So when I call your tech support, please humor me and be helpful.
First, I sit through menu after menu. But you do not give me numbered options so that I can identify my problem. Oh, no. Your FemBot asks me insipid questions. I try to speak clearly, but the longer I am lost in the system, the more irritated my voice becomes. She then gives me an option of two items from which to choose. Neither is my problem — I do not have a problem placing a call or accessing the Internet because, as I tried to tell you earlier, THE PHONE WENT DEAD. I am just fortunate to have another phone so that I can call you to tell you that!
Oh, but it gets better. After I demand from your automaton to speak with a live representative, you give me one that is less helpful than the computer voice. Not only are we not understanding each other, but he transfers me to the collections department. I know, I’m not good about paying on time these days (hence the shut-off last month. Thanks and Merry Christmas to you, too!). But my billing cycle only ended on Friday — the girl in the collections department was as counfounded as I was about the transfer. So she transferred me back to Moron Boy, and perhaps it was a blessing that the call got dropped. Because any call I make gets dropped. Hooray.
Anyway, I fixed the phone myself, thanks for asking. As I sat arguing with FemBot, I broke open the phone, removed its innards and put it back together, and voila! The phone finally turned on again.
Thank you for wasting a half hour of my life. Remind me why I’m supposed to pay you again?
Love, Dawn
On iTunes: Coolio, “Gangsta’s Paradise”
(Thanks for the mention, love!)