Verizon Tech Support

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Wednesday, August 10, 2016

Today I am grateful for Verizon tech support.  Really?  Again?  And I lied anyway.  I’m not grateful for them.  I want to crawl through all of the cable lines and routers and set-top-boxes and choke the snot out of them.  God bless us everyone!

 

Yesterday, after a heinous day, where one frustration compounded another, Himself decided to record the Olympic women’s soccer game and watch it later, after the carpets were done, after stuff was put away, after supper, when everything had settled down.  Silly Wabbit!  Doesn’t he know a poltergeist lives here and rears its ugly head from time to time.  Yesterday was “time”.

 

He went upstairs to watch the game.  And came down three minutes later.  “There are no recordings available!” he said, not at all happy.  “I’m checking the bedroom TV.”  No.  Nothing.  “I can’t believe I worked my ass off all day and when I want to watch the game it’s not there!”

 

It was there, but not on the TV’s he wanted to watch it on.  Even though I found the game annoying, and him annoying, and myself annoying, I put it on in the living room. What a good wife am I?  I stopped what I was watching. . .for him.  Points.

 

Then I called tech support.  We had just signed on for two more years and I was told “everything” will stay the same.  Good.  I hate change.  Unless I want it.  Then I only hate it a little less.

 

I got so many prompts to punch numbers, or say this, or tell me that, that I was soon shouting “Representative!  Representative!  Representative!” right over the record-a-voice.  She didn’t miss a beat so I punched zero!  Ten minutes later and enough canned muzak to make me wish I was Beethoven, Miss Thang comes on the phone.  I give her my name, address, phone number.  To verify my account.  Again.

 

Her accent is so strong and she is speaking so fast that I wanted to scream.  She couldn’t help me and put me through to someone else.  Same details.  Again.  To verify.  Her accent was just as bad.  They probably sit next to each other in Bangladesh.  I’m sure they are lovely people but I am a nut case and don’t really care at this point.  This one tries to tell me that my set-top-boxes won’t work to play recordings that are HD.  “Yeah, well since I don’t have HD, then they should all play just fine.” I say.

“No, maam, they won’t.  They were recorded on HD.”

“No, they weren’t.  Because I don’t HAVE HD.  So they should work just fine.”

“No, maam, they won’t.  As I said. . .”

“Well they played just fine two days ago.”  Am I insane?

“No, maam, they won’t.”  I’m sure I had a major brain fart.  “You have the old ones and they won’t play HD.”

“But I don’t have HD, either!”  I am now speaking very slooowllly.  “When I re-signed EVERYTHING was supposed to stay the same!  Everything!  Now I can’t watch recordings in two different rooms where I used to be able to!”

“No they couldn’t have worked, you need new.”  The broad wouldn’t budge!

“That’s bullshit!  That is just complete bullshit!  Are you recording this because that is complete and utter. . .no pun intended bullshit!”

“Perhaps I will get someone from tech support to help you.”

Yeah, why don’t you do that little thing.  I didn’t say it.  I figured the bullshit rant was enough.  For now.

 

“Hello,” the accent said, “I’m Rashad and I am going to help you today.  Could I have your name, address phone number, what you had for breakfast, dinner, lunch, the color/texture of your last bowel movement?  Then please tell me why your set-top-boxes are older than the shoes I have on.”  Okay, he was nice.  I almost didn’t care.

 

Imagine how thrilled Himself was to have the game interrupted.  Again.  This time by re-booting everything.  I’d like to re-boot something alright.  Re-boot this!!!!!  Rashad hooked us up.  Whole experience “only” took an hour for a “service” I pay dearly for.  I’ll never get that hour back!  I will not call tech support again. . .not without a pail of tranquilizers at the ready!

Breathe!      Breathe!         Breathe!      Namaste!

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