And You Think You Have Problems

You don’t want to hear about the day I had yesterday. Don’t even get me started. Okay, I’ll tell you.
It was frustration personified. To start it off, let me say that my wife just bought me a new Touch phone. That’s the name. It’s through Sprint. This phone has so many bells and whistles. I just wish I knew how to operate it.
Even more so, I wish either the manufacturer (HTC) knew how to write a manual to explain how to operate it, or that Sprint would hire people that knew anything at all.
I called Sprint. They must hold classes showing their customer service people how to deliver absolutely miserable customer service. No one could be that bad by accident.
The first person I got had a lovely Bangladesh accent. And, I’m sure that if I spoke her language, I would have understood every word she said. I was trying to find out how to make something on the phone work.
Finally she said (in that lovely accent), “You mooost hive eee take-nee-kool proh-blem. I wheel kewnect you.
“Hold on,” I screamed as she went, “Click.” I didn’t have a technical problem, but I guess I’d have to wait and tell the person in the Technical Problem department that. I looked around the house while I waited to see if I had an English to Swahili translation book, just in case.
While I waited, I got to listen to the lovely hold music Sprint uses. I guess the same people who write instruction manuals on delivering horrible customer service, must also produce CDs of one tone hold music. Actually it was about 3 or 4 notes, repeated constantly during my fifteen minute (by my watch), three minute (by their calculation) wait. The music just kept going “Diddle-lee dop,” diddle-lee dop, diddle-lee dop.”
Finally someone who spoke English came on line. Hey, now we’re getting somewhere.
“Can I get the mobile phone number you are having a problem with,” she asked in about the same tone as the music.
“Didn’t the woman I just spoke with give you that?” I asked good-naturedly.
“No sir,” she responded in a way that suggested I was keeping her from her cigarette break.
So, I give her the number.
“May I have the password?” she asked.
“I just gave that to the last person,” I informed her.
“May I have the password?” she asked.
“Don’t you people have enough sense to let each other know when you’ve already qualifed someone?” I asked sincerely.
“No sir,” she answered honestly.
I gave her the password and started to explain that I didn’t have a technical problem, I just wanted some information.
“What is the problem with your phone?” she interrupts to ask.
“May I speak with someone who is not a moron?” I ask.
“Sir, I want to help you.”
“I don’t want you to help me. Let me speak with a manager.” I’m getting ticked.
Finally the manager comes on the phone.
“When my wife bought this Touch phone,” I say, “I should have right then and there slashed my wrists. It would have been quicker and less painful.”
He actually laughed. Hey, I’m thinking, I like this guy. Anyway, he puts me on hold and goes to find his Touch book. He tells me how to solve the problem.
“If this doesn’t work, I’ll call you back,” I tell him.
“You don’t want to have to call us back,” he laughs.
“You’re right,” I say. “I’d rather be pecked to death by geese than call Sprint.”
Anyway I do what he says. It doesn’t work.

TO BE CONTINUED