Take your stinkin' telephone and ....

I have a recurring nightmare. I’ve had it since I was a little girl and I think it’s fairly common. I’m being chased or someone is trying to break in and no matter what I do, I can not get the telephone to work. Either I keep pressing the wrong numbers, or my hands move too slowly and I just can’t get the phone to dial, or it’s too dark and I can’t see the numbers or it just goes dead the moment I finally finish dialing. Well yesterday, this recurring nightmare actually came to life.

I’ve been having problems with my telephone line. There’s been static on the line for a few days now and consequently my DSL keeps bouncing off line every few minutes. Since I work from home and my business is online, this is not only frustrating - it just can’t happen. So, I put it off for a few days because I know and you know that calling the phone company is torture and sucks the life right out of you. So yesterday, I finally got my head wrapped around the unavoidable task and made the call; and, as predicted; life, sucked, gone.

I knew I’d be greeted by the cheerful, generic female robot that would politely tell me my phone number and use friendly, human vernacular like “okay, I have your records here” and “this might take a minute.” After I stated that I needed “Repair and service” my robotic friend told me to “state your problem” so I said “static.” Keep it simple right? That is the problem in a nutshell. Well, evidently, “static” means switch me over to Spanish because all of a sudden I had a new friend on the line and I couldn't understand a thing. You'd think after taking eight years of Spanish that I would be able to pick up one bloody word my new foreign robot was rattling off. But no, so I simply yelled said, “No hablo Espanol.” Didn’t work. So now I admit to yelling, “NO HABLO ESPANOL.” Then “OH, MY, GOD!” still nothing. So, I hung up from call number one. My nightmare had begun.

Call number two. Same generic female, same statements, same questions, same answers from me only a tad more hostile. At last, through some miracle or merciful God, I get a live person. A pleasant enough woman who tells me that I need to hang up (don’t tell me that) and go in my creepy basement to search for a gray box where I can test the line to see if we have an outside problem or an inside problem. She also says I can unplug all the phones in the house for 15 minutes and plug them back in. So, off I go with flashlight, screw driver and an old fashioned "corded" phone that I had to dig out of my kids’ toy chest. (Who uses anything but cordless anymore?)  I checked all around the outside of the house and in my creepy basement, no gray box. Great. So, I attempt plan B and unplug all my phones for 15 minutes and pray. Well, as you can see, there is more to this story so obviously my prayer went unanswered. On to call number three.

My robotic nemesis answers once again and I think she is now reveling in the torture she is inflicting. She sounds just a bit more cheerful this time. Her questions come more slowly. Or maybe that’s because I know every flipping question and every answer by heart.  Finally, after the tears start to well up, she sends me to a real person, Randy. “Hello, hello” sweat dripping down my neck, “is someone there? I made it through? I’m trapped in my bedroom and someone is trying to break in and I’ve been trying to call but the phone won’t work and, and…” Ooops, sorry wrong nightmare.  Randy proceeds to go over with me for the fourth time all of the many testing options I had already heard on my multiple calls. Try as I might to be the lady my mother taught me or tried to teach me to be, I had to cut him off and tell him that I’d already tried all that and I just want it fixed. He said he’d love to help but they can’t test the line because I’m calling on that line and I’d have to hang up and call back from my cell phone. “No, No, Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

This wasn’t happening. I knew they were going to suck the life out of me, but now they were just flat out trying to kill me. I begged Randy, “Please, is there a direct line where I can call you back. If I get stuck with that automated bitch again, there is no telling what I’m going to do.” Randy said there was an 800 number directly for repairs. “Whew.” So, my ticket went on hold, again, and I went in search of my cell phone. I dialed the 800 number and held my breath. And there she was again. Same words, same recorded prompts, same everything. And, “Oh no, did I just answer “Static” to that last question?” Yep, once again my Spanish Amiga took over. No, this wasn’t happening.  It’s all a nightmare and I’m going to wake up. “Wake up, Debbie, wake up."

I hung up on my new Spanish friend and called back one... more...time, a lone tear streaming down my cheek (and I’m not kidding.) I never did get Randy back, never spoke to another live person. The prompts sent me to “activating my ticket” or something like that. I said or maybe screamed “YES” into the phone. The lovely automated assistant thanked me for calling and said, “If you’re done, you can just hang up.” How nice. Is there another option? What if I’m not done? What if I want to speak with someone to confirm the repair? What if I just want to know when they might be coming out to my house?

As I write this, I still don’t have the answers to any of these questions. This post may take weeks to make it to the internet, who knows. All I do know is that once my phones do get working again, I’m calling cable.

Original New Jersey Moms Blog post.  Deborah Smith also blogs at JerseyBites.com

Graphic by Peter Culos.