Annoyance Factor (1-10): 9
YES, THAT'S right: anal rapage is inevitable when dealing with the customer service department. But now I'm telling you that the sky is blue and water is wet, right?
My laptop was giving me an error message when I turned it on this evening (CRITICAL ERROR: your sh!t is seriously f*cked up, man. 0x-0014412-1) and wouldn't let me open any Microsoft products. Being a professor with lectures to write and give tomorrow, this needed to be fixed ASAP. So after diddling around myself for a bit to no avail, I swallowed my natural reticence (now! with no preservatives!) and called Dell customer support.
"Thank you for calling Dell! We don't, in actuality, care diddly doo-dah about you! This message will therefore be unnecessarily long and complicated so as to make it nearly impossible to navigate successfully! For starters --"
ME: *presses zero*
"I'm sorry. That's not a valid option. We realize that 'zero' usually means 'operator, please' but we'll be damned if we're about to make it that easy...
(pause)
Thank you for calling Dell! We don't, in actuality, care diddly doo-dah about you! This message will therefore be unnecessarily long and complicated so as to make it nearly impossible to navigate successfully! For starters, please enter your Service Tag, located on the bottom of your computer."
ME: *upends computer, enters service tag*
"Thank you! Now please enter your Express Service Code, also located on the bottom of your computer."
ME: *sighs, flips computer over, enters Service Code*
"Thank you! For security purposes, what is the capital of Micronesia?"
ME: *P-A-L-I-K-I-R* (don't feel bad. I totally looked that up)
"To spend money on one of our quality products, press 1. To complain about a quality product that you've already spent money on but that doesn't technically work, press 2. If you owe us money and want Vinny McBleedy and Knuckles to stop harrassing you at your place of business, press 3. All of these options terminate with a completely automated system. If you'd like to speak to an actual human being, recite the entire Gettysburg Address from beginning to end while performing calisthenics. Or do the Hokey Pokey and turn yourself around. It won't get you anywhere - don't be absurd - but it's quite entertaining to us. Thank you."
... When I finally get a customer service guy, he immediately asks me for all the information I've just patiently punched into their system. This is irksome. It makes me think that all the button-pressing is simply a delaying tactic to make me feel as though I'm doing something productive (I feel much the same way about the button at crosswalks that purportedly changes the light to green. But that's a whole 'nother story). Nevertheless, I'm cheerful and pleasant. It's not this guy's fault, right? And being nasty to him isn't going to get me anywhere. I explain my problem, and he tells me that I need to talk to someone in technical support, specifically. He transfers me.
The woman who answers tells me she's Marilyn and asks how she can help. I explain my problem a second time and ask again for assistance.
"I'll be glad to help, sir. Can you please give me your Service Tag and Express Service Code?"
You're not surprised. I'm not surprised. Marilyn is filing her nails on the other end of the line. My teeth are gritted, but I calmly give her my codes without complaint, as well as my mother's maiden name, birthplace, driver's license number, blood type, turn-ons and turn offs (brainy girls!)(poor grammar!) and a semen sample. Brace yourself for not-surprise: Marilyn confides that she'll have to transfer me to the software department and tells me to give them my case number so they'll know how to help me. I write the 6,000 digit number down painstakingly, as though it were the DNA-coding sequence for Angelina Jolie's lip-plumpness. I listen to the bad jazz music as I'm transferred.
"Hi! This is Alicia! What can I do for you?"
ME: *dangerously cheery* Hello, Alicia! Would you like my case number?
"...Sure! I'll be happy to help. But may I have your case number first, please?"
ME: ??!?!! #!%*@??
After giving Alicia my case number, every code number ever imprinted on any portion of my laptop, and the name of my second grade gym coach, she tells me the following in a supremely perky voice:
"Did you know that Dell's Technical Support for this type of problem is a paid service?"
I take deep breaths. I count to ten. I count to twenty (which makes thirty now, but I still want to send Alicia some sort of nasty bacterial infection or at least a bad rash through the phone connection). Then,
ME: Ok, Alicia. How much is the service?
"Well, you have two options: the yearly plan is $275; or there's a per-incident plan that ranges from $25 up to about $190." (translation: I can anally rape you with lube or without, buddy).
ME: *total silence, as I send Alicia cancer with my mind*
"... sir...?"
ME: Hi, Alicia. Yeah. I'm going to go punch something now, really hard. I appreciate the help. Seriously.
"Thank you for calling Dell."
So how do I get my laptop fixed? I open up Google, type in the error message, and follow the instructions I find on some tech-geek message board. Voila! In five minutes, my computer works fine.
The moral of this story: being able to give someone a debilitating disease with your mind would be a really good super-power.
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1 comment:
Dang, you shoulda asked a librarian. I would have directed you to Google first. :)
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