SnyderWriter Writes About It All!

I have to tell y’all, this morning did not start off well.

At about 3:00 AM, after spending half the night in the pitch-black because something akin to a tsunami was raining outside my bedroom window and knocked the power out in the process, my damned internet service cut off. Now, any decent company would have waited till you went to work to disconnect your service. Not these sneaky bastards. Right in the smack dab middle of the night. When you’re least expecting it.

Yes, I know most normal people have been off in dreamland for hours by this point, but your girl, she’s not normal! I have HORRID insomnia, and last night was one of those nights.

So, I abandoned all hope of being productive and decided I should probably go ahead and pay the bill. Can’t blog if ya don’t have the net!

Let me explain the dilemma that caused this snafu. My bank, God love ’em, sucks. Had I not been with them for almost 30 years, I would tell them where they can go and give ’em the directions, but us southerners are nothing if not loyal. So, about three weeks ago, for the seventh or eighth time this calendar year…I shit you not…they had to send me a new debit card because there was “fraudulent activity” on my account. I don’t know who tf thought they were gonna strick it rich from the spoils of stealing from me, but trust me, the joke was on them. Yet, I digress. So, new card. Forgot to update the payment info for my internet bill.

Because this is the second verse, same as the first, I’ve dealt with the sheer hell that is involved with getting my net service restored. There‘s some little something that the customer service rep is supposed to do, but they NEVER do it. It takes an average of three calls for them to figure it out. Even though they ASSURED me that they put a note on my account so the next time some dumbass tries to steal the $2.35 I have in the bank and forget to update the card info, I won’t have to go through the same crap. Yeah, right.

So, at 4:35 AM, I’m on the phone with the internet company that shall not be named for the FOURTH TIME. And someone who is not a native English speaker happily takes my call. I hope you can detect the sarcasm in that. I politely told the young lady of my dilemma, that there should be notes in my account, and I would patiently wait for her to turn the service back on while I waited on the line. No, I’m NOT being sarcastic this time. I was incredibly charming.

She tells me the problem is solved. I try to Netflix and chill, and guess what? It’s not fixed. I once again asked her to please read the notes on my account, and I let her know, politely, that I would sit there till doomsday if need be until my service was restored.

“Well, Ma’am. I’m not the one who didn’t pay my bill.”

Bitch, what? Oh, HELL no! Y’all, I have already had one stroke due to stress, and I was positive another was on its way. WTF did she say?

I KNOW I wasn’t cussing. I’ve honestly never cussed out a customer service rep. But I wasn’t exactly what you’d call “quiet.” I know this because my boyfriend, whose greatest pleasure in life is to sit on the toilet for a minimum of 45 minutes a session, came running into the living room, abandoning his thrown after only 20 minutes or so to see what all the commotion was about.

Of course, he assumes it’s my fault that this verbal altercation is taking place, but when I told him what she said, he said, “bitch, what? Oh, HELL no! Her ass needs to get fired.”

Ya think?

I heatedly tell her that I need her manager on the line like five minutes ago. Her reply, you ask? “No.”

I can’t make this shit up.

I told her that if she didn’t get someone on the phone right then, I was on my way to whatever foreign land she called home to whoop her ass right and propper. She tried to craw-dad out of it, but I wasn’t having it. My eyes were bulging. Heart racing. Spitting all over with every syllable. The bitch hung up on me.

Oh, dear Dinah. I called back. Guess who answered the damn phone? You guessed it! Ms. Congenality.

To confirm my suspicions, I asked her if I just got off the phone with her. Her response was some sort of undiscernible chordal/chuckle noise. Then, somewhere in that sound, I heard Goofy say, “U-huuu, yup!” After that, it was on and poppin’.

I told her I needed the manager. Period. “Why?” she dared ask.

“You’re joking, right? You were on the phone with me. You know what happened. Put someone on this damned phone. Now.”

“Um, ma’am, you have no reason that you need to speak to a manager.”

“The hell I don’t! You can A) put him on the phone or B) hang up on me again, in which case I will immediately call back. And if you hang up again, guess what’s gonna happen? Yup! I’m calling back. And I will keep calling back until your corporate office opens. Then I’m gonna call THEM. I have NEVER said this in my life, and no, my name isn’t ‘Karen,’ but I’m gonna have your job. Bet that”

“Um, one moment.”

It turned into 10. Then a poor unfortunate soul got on the phone, and I lit into that man like lightning to a lightning rod. In between the one or two breaths I took during this trade, I could hear him said, “uh,” “bu,” “ma,” No f’s were given. That story was coming out, and no one was stopping the train once it left the station.

I’m not sure if I ran completely out of breath or energy or both, but I finally sat quietly except for the sound of my bated breath.

He assured me that he was more sorry than he’d ever been in his entire life for the turmoil I’d been put through. He promised me that the woman who wounded my psyche would be dealt with swift and brutal retribution. Then, once he could let I was buying what he was selling, he slipped in the added message that the woman I was giving the latest tongue lashing to was not, in fact, the origin of my anger.

To be honest with you, I don’t think I believed him. But he was good at his job. He calmed me down by taking my side, whether he wanted to or not. Probably because he was in fear for his life, but wtf ever works, correct?

Amid my unbridled angry passion, I almost forgot about the entire reason I was on the phone with these assholes in the first place. The damned internet! So, I CALMLY explained the issue with my service, and guess what? No sooner than I finished the last syllable of the last word of the last sentence on the subject, the shit was working.

I apologized to the man for being so angry even though he had nothing to do with the situation. I told him I was tired and cranky, and he was not the one who should have had to deal with my mean ass.

The man, God love him, cementing my theory he should have sold used cars rather than working for them who shall not be named, said to me…completely serious…” no need to apologize, ma’am. You were lovely.”

Lovely??? That was the first time in 46 years that I’d been referred to as such, and it was a bald-faced lie. I was a bitch. And I knew it. But I drove to the end of that road by some crazier bitch who didn’t have a license to operate.

Usually, when I receive shitty customer service, I give my money to someone who deserves it. They who shall not be named DO NOT deserve a cent of my hard-earned money, much less $100 a month for shitty service that goes out if there’s a cloud within 50 miles south of here. But, they are my only option in this shithole town. If I wanna stay connected with you, I’ve gotta have the internet. Oh, the things I do for love!