There was a discrepancy with my phone bill. I tackled the problem on Monday at 7pm. I picked up my phone and dialed the 800 number, which was referred to as the ‘customer loyalty number’. This ‘loyalty’ number was given to me by someone in the AT&T building on Jefferson Road. It was scribbled fairly sloppily, and it was wrong as I discovered since I dialed the number four times, and each time the phone connection was cut off preceded with a terse message informing me that that particular number was not available in my area, whatever that meant. I started feeling less loyal.
I searched the bill for a customer service number and found nothing. I searched on the internet and found a number. I dialed. The customer service person with whom I spoke was pleasant enough, referring to me as ‘madam’ an exorbitant number of times. I guessed perhaps I had landed in Calcutta or maybe Singapore. There was a lengthy, polite discussion about the incorrect bill and there were apologies and a lot of crackling over the connection in addition to a noisy collection of voices in the background quoting other numbers to other customers. It was quite confusing. At one point, the person calling me ‘madam’ informed me there were no notations on my account promising me what I had been promised. Feeling less and less loyal, I said, “But that’s on you”. Pause. A few more apologies and I was transferred.
I’m not sure which department the next person was in. It could have been billing. It could have been the true place where the ‘loyalty’ number was supposed to take me but I’m not sure. It may have been on a new continent. I discovered I had the wrong ‘loyalty’ number, or rather because it had been written sloppily, I had read it incorrectly. There was polite laughter and some apologies and I was called ‘madam’ again several times. Then I was asked if I could be called ‘Elisabeth’. I was told I was very patient and would I mind being put on hold? So then I had the correct number but no person on the other end of the line. There was more fuzzy crackling and I know I heard voices in the background and before I knew it, I was back on the line with someone I could not quite understand. I was informed I was patient and was promptly transferred, somewhere else.
The next person sounded generally American. A third continent? Maybe. I wasn’t called ‘madam’ and I wasn’t told I was patient so perhaps I really was back in the USA. Together we worked on subtraction. There was the original bill. There was the incorrect bill. There was the early contract termination fee. There was a flurry of numbers we thought might be subtracted: part of a promotion, a service change fee, a TV access fee (I thought if I owned the TV I should have access), a protection plan (from what? I thought maybe AT&T but I wasn’t sure), and a regional sports charge. We got these subtracted and added things up. We came up with a different number, not matching anything on the paper. I was transferred.
I was switched out of the USA and ended up…where? There was a lengthy period of ‘musak’ and I had time to consider what we managed to export to other nations. ‘Muzak”…not good. In the next department I was informed they would remove the contract termination fee. I was told this was ‘pending’ and that I was very patient and would I mind being placed on hold? I gritted my teeth and said, ‘yes’ and the contact at the other end of the line must have sensed I was no longer ‘loyal’ because he or she stopped and then said, ‘Madam, would you do me a favor?’ I thought he or she wanted a good survey result and I answered ‘Yes’. I am patient and loyal. ‘Would you promise me that you will put a smile on your face and keep it there for the rest of the day?’ I was silent. I looked up at the ceiling and counted some tiles. I lowered my head and chose to laugh politely into the phone and answered ‘yes’ while my brain thought ‘doubtful’. I was put on hold. Muzak. Voices. Numbers. Crackle. I looked at the clock and noted that it was 8:16pm. The phone call suddenly dropped and I left that continent.
Today I received a text from AT&T asking me to complete a survey about my experience with Leo. This was in the middle of my class where my little one had just asked me if I took showers and that she did and she washed all her body pieces. I had to look at the ceiling.
I think I spoke to six people last night. Who’s Leo? As the leprechauns are my witness, I don’t know anyone named Leo. Poor Leo. Poor soul. Somewhere on one of the seven continents on this lovely planet, there sits a person named Leo who waits in vain for AT&T survey results from a tired American woman. It’s not going to happen. My survey choices ranged from very dissatisfied to very satisfied. I was looking for the word ‘trapped’. Poor Leo. Poor soul.
690 Saint Paul 