What we have here, is a failure to communicate!
Saturday came and went, with more than three phone calls, five transfers to different departments and a U.S. geography lesson thrown in for good measure, since each call landed me in a different city, while I repeated every detail to a new operator. My incision began to smart a bit, as my aggravation level rose with every transfer and I struggled to retain my composure, explaining that I was housebound from surgery and completely dependent on my ISP to not only get my work done, but also be connected to the outside world. More apologies and the promise of an additional free month of “quality service” did not serve to soothe my jangled nerves as I was told that there would be no one to help me on Sunday and that my “patience in this matter was greatly appreciated.”
Feeling neither patient nor appreciated, I threw my hands in the air (which hurt a bit), cursed my fate and took a much needed nap, silently praying for a miracle. I rose early Monday morning and started dialing. By now, I wasn’t surprised to get San Francisco on the other end, explained my predicament and was put on hold for 19 fun-filled minutes, which ended in my being redirected to a “sales manger” in Sri Lanka. The language barrier added a fresh challenge, and I lost it. I hung up on Sri Lanka and furiously dialed again, only to be put on hold, while operators “assisted” other customers.
While waiting for help from someone in the U.S. Virgin Islands, Sri Lanka had the nerve to call me back and attempt to sell me a new service contract, as if he had never spoken with me, while informing me that his name was Jonathan Fox. “That would be my name,” I (literally) screamed into the phone, stomping my foot, which popped a stitch and provided a perfect catalyst for me to shriek like a banshee, while the dog ran for cover.
Today is Tuesday. I still have no Internet connection, although my land line is inexplicably working. Unsure how to proceed from here without Valium coursing through my veins, I am trying to figure out how to get these very words to The River Reporter’s computer in Narrowsburg, since I’m still unable to drive there myself to deliver them. Although my ISP has upped the ante to three free months, I’m thinking it might be prudent to switch service providers at this point. I placed a call this morning and am presently on hold with someone in New Delhi. Can’t wait to see how the day unfolds...