Nowhere Fast
On the day after Christmas, one should treat retail stores like homeless men with fresh pee stains flailing blunt instruments: avoid at all costs. (TELEVISION SHOW IDEA: Crocodile Hunter-type format but instead of the wild, the khaki-clad host explores the decrepit underbelly of decaying city dwellers. Also, he doesn't just investigate stuff and then go home. He must survive on the streets like his subjects. Possible titles: "Tarzan: Lord of the Concrete," "Pimp My Cardboard Box" or "Stench Busters.")
Anyway, my practice of steering clear of all things shopping on December 26th has served me well. Yet, this morning, I found myself feeling hopeful and emboldened by the holiday and the few extra days off work. So I decided to take a chance and call Sprint to change my current wireless plan.
Here's an edited yet unembellished account of what transpired:
I was asked by the automated attendant to enter my phone number on at least three different occasions.
I was asked to enter my social security number to confirm my account.
A customer service representative (CSR) picked up the line and asked me my phone number. I told her I'd have to check, but I didn't think it had changed since the last three times I entered it during this call. She said she'd wait.
The CSR asked me if I had Nextel or Sprint service (as the two have apparently merged).
The CSR said that to reach Sprint, I needed to call the exact same 800 number that I initially dialed.
I explained this to the CSR, who then put me on hold. After several minutes she returned and gave me a different phone number to contact.
I asked the CSR why they needed to collect duplicate copies of my account information before asking the most basic of questions: Which service do you use? She advised me to call the different phone number for assistance.
I dialed the new phone number. It was not in service.
I redialed this initial Sprint 800 number and pounded "0" until I was transferred to customer service agent, all the while screaming obscenities into the phone (which felt surprisingly good, I must admit).
For the next five minutes, I listened to the following message repeat every 15 seconds (9 seconds for the message, 6 seconds of pause in between repeats): "All of our agents are currently helping other customers. Your call will be answered shortly, so please stay on the line. Thank you for your patience."
After five minutes the message abruptly (and mercifully) stopped. It was followed by 9 minutes of complete silence. It probably would've been more than 9 minutes, but I had to take a piss. Nothing is worse that being mid-stream and hearing the operator pick-up on your speakerphone. Best case, you beat yourself up for not waiting just a few more seconds. Worst case, your try to cut it off, rupture your bladder, make a mad, semi-pantsed shuffle to the phone, trip over the cat, smash headfirst into the corner of the desk, thrust out for the receiver and recoil it to your ear only to hear *click*. So I just hung up.
I now feel like this wasted time must be made up. As we speak, I'm preparing to discard my well-serving philosophy and go run errands. Like the compulsive loser who attempts to gamble his way out of debt, I will risk further ruin by casting aside all logic and assuming my luck will change.
Keep your eyes peeled for me on a new show coming soon to the Discovery Channel.