Posts Tagged "verizon"

Dear Verizon: It Just Cannot Be This Difficult

Dear Kid,

Once upon a time, we used Cincinnati Bell as our cell phone carrier. Things weren’t perfect, but it was easy enough to call or walk in and have someone easily and immediately address the problem.

Then someone (not naming names, but You) went to college and moved to a part of the country where Cinci Bell was, um, unreliable. Reliably unreliable.

Since you wisely believed that you should have a working communication device with which to contact your mother every now and then, we moved your service to Verizon.

It wasn’t exactly easy, but we made it happen. And life went merrily on.

Until Cincinnati Bell decided they no longer wished to be our cell service provider of choice. They no longer wished to be anyone’s cell service provider (of choice or otherwise).

So we had a conversation with Verizon.

Me: I’d like to move our service over.
Verizon: We’d like that too!
Me: My phone needs to be the main number on the account.
Verizon: Yeah, no. The Kid was here first. He stays the main number.
Me: No, I’m the mom. I pay the bill. I need to be the main number on the account.
Verizon: Maybe we weren’t clear: No. Hand over your credit card.
Me: How is this Customer Service?
Verizon: We don’t really care about customer service. Just your credit card.

And so things bumped along. Service wasn’t perfect, but at least they were difficult to deal with.

And so things bumped along. Service wasn’t perfect, but at least they were difficult to deal with.

Now it seems, Verizon has upped its game.

Kid: Mom, you have to call Verizon.
Me: What? Why?
Kid: The bill hasn’t been paid.
Me (in a show of insight and creativity): What? Why?
Kid: I don’t know. Call them.
Me: Will do.

Verizon: We don’t really care about customer service. Just your credit card.

Verizon: Please talk to the automated system.
Me: Why on earth would I want to talk to the automated system? Human please.
Verizon: The automated system requests that you enter your PIN.
Me: Don’t have a PIN. Apparently don’t have a human either. Operator please.
Verizon: It’s very easy to use the automated system. Please enter your PIN.
Me: Haven’t acquired a PIN in the last 1.3 seconds. Operator please.
Verizon: Hello, I am so sorry to hear that. Certainly we can help you. My name is Cheerful but Untrained. How may I be of assistance?
Me: I want to take care of my bill.
Verizon: Yes, I see you owe us money. We sent you a text.
Me: No, you sent the Kid a text. Which is why we have An Issue.
Verizon: How may I help you.
Me: I’d like to pay my bill.
Verizon: Yes, certainly ma’am. I understand. I can help you with that. Would you like to pay your balance on the automated system?
Me: No, I would like to talk to you and figure out why the autopay didn’t work.
Verizon: Yes, ma’am, I see. I’d be happy to help you with that. If you’ll just hold while I enroll in three weeks of training, we’ll have this figured out in no time.
Me: Perhaps we could skip right to the part where we solve the problem?
Verizon: Yes, ma’am. Certainly. But our scripts don’t allow for that. Would you like to speak to our automated system?
Me: I believe the problem is I have a new expiration date on my credit card.
Verizon: Certainly, ma’am. I’m sorry you encountered this problem and I’d be happy to help you with that. I can transfer you to the automated system so you can update your information before we cut off your service entirely.
Me: How about you just take a payment?
Verizon: I guess I could do that.
Me: Excellent. And while you’re at it, let’s get the autopay corrected.
Verizon: Yes, ma’am. I cannot do that. You need to do that through the automated system. And it will take two to three billing cycles for it to take effect.
Me: Huh? How can it take 60 to 90 days for an automated system to update an expiration date?
Verizon. Yes, ma’am. May I have your credit card number?
Me: You have the credit card number. You just need to fix the date.
Verizon: I can’t date customers.
Me: Perhaps a date with destiny.
Verizon: Is Destiny on the account, ma’am?
Me: Can I please pay this bill?
Verizon: Of course, ma’am. What is the new expiration date?….Thank you, and the security code? …. Thank you….Can you please give me the security code again? And the expiration date?
Me: Oh, goodness.
Verizon: Yes ma’am. And what is your credit card number?

Dear Verizon: It has GOT to be easier than this.

Love, Mom

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Dad Dents Car Door with Butt

Dear Kid,

You’d best sit down for the News of The Day.

Yesterday, Dad dented the new car with his butt. Inevitably, this caused Pi to discuss Buns of Steel in great detail (and much hilarity).

Apparently, Dad used his posterior to close the car door, and somehow his muscularity cause such force as to dent the Imprezza.

Are butt prints, like finger prints, admissable in court? DearKidLoveMom.comI don’t know how one non-hulk-like human can butt-close a door and leave a dent. I wonder if a butt-dent would be admissible in court (the way fingerprints are)….

In other news, he also broke my iron yesterday. It’s not like the iron gets a lot of use in our house, but I’ve had it longer than I’ve had Dad, so it was a little sad.

In other breakage news from yesterday, Pi’s phone turned on but refused to light up the screen. Since actually being able to see the screen is important for sending and receiving communication, she didn’t think this was such a fab idea.

I will spare you the details of failed cell phone resuscitation (you’re welcome) and skip right to the “we went for new phones today.”

Replacing our phones mostly wasn’t voluntary. Cincinnati Bell decided they no longer wish to be in the cell phone business. So we knew we were going to have to switch carriers, but hadn’t planned to do it quite yet.

That's a butt that could dent a car. DearKidLoveMom.comPi and I drove up to the Verizon store, walked in, and were greeted with “Hi Pi.” It was the general manager, and he didn’t call her Pi, but he did greet her by name. The general manager of that location is the father of a football teammate and proudly introduced Pi to our sales dude as “our kicker.” Being “our kicker” gets you pretty darn good treatment. Still doesn’t make buying new phones phun.

Several years later, we walked out with enough to technology to compute pretty much everything we might ever want—and even the ability to phone home. Dad is displeased with the cell case we chose for him and has gone back to See About Alternatives (my money says he’ll come back with exactly what we got him).

I still can’t believe he dented the car door with his butt.

Hope you’re having a good Saturday.

Love, Mom

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How Hard Can This POSSIBLY Be? Bill Paying in the Modern World

Seriously, It Can't Be This Hard. DearKidLoveMom.comDear Kid,

Banks like to hold on to money. I get that. So when you want to take money out, banks get fairly insistent that you provide 17 kinds of ID showing who you are, when you were born, what your favorite color is, why your hair is currently ½ shade lighter than your passport photo, and write an essay on being kind to small creatures. Then reluctantly they might part with their cash. Which is really your cash.

On the other hand, when it comes to putting money into the bank, they don’t much care who you are or why you are there that day. They don’t even care if you’re putting money into your own account. If you have something resembling cash, checks, or money orders (I have it on good authority they don’t accept goats), they’ll accept your deposit. And possibly even give you a lollipop.

Which is why, O Best Beloved, I have been sooooo frustrated (that’s the only word I can come up with at the moment that won’t get this blog banned in several countries) as I try to pay my bills.

I am trying to PAY my bills. No arguments. No hassles. No “can’t you please cut the bill in half because my dog ate my homework.” No nonsense. Just plain old please-take-my-money.

In the seriously olden days, one would simply walk over to the store, hand over a goat, and have your cell phone bill marked “paid.” In the less ancient but still olden days, one would sit down at the kitchen table, heave a big sigh, write checks, and send payments by snail mail. The sigh was very important to get into the spirit of things.

In modern times, we’re supposed to be able to push a few buttons on the computer—voila, funds transferred, bills paid, no need to think about it again until next month (or ever if you’ve set up auto payment). Should be easy, right?

Oh, how wrong thou art.

Our saga begins earlier in the week when I tried to set up autopayment for Fred the Car. I had several spare minutes, the account number from the bill I’d received, and the checkbook. I was Prepared. I thought.

I shall spare you the details because I am a Kind and Loving Parent. The short version is Chase Bank (who handles the financing for Subaru leases—yes, I’m naming names) insisted I had an on-line account, hung up on me twice as I tried to get it reset, texted a sign in key code to my phone that didn’t have enough digits, had to talk me through their account set up process (have I mentioned I am not the dumbest person on the planet? There is no way anyone could follow the on line directions (which included having to know to do step three before step one)), and ended with me sitting down at the kitchen table, heaving a VERY heavy sigh and writing them a check. It was easier to refinance our mortgage.

Then there was The Difficulty with Verizon (seriously naming names today). Despite them never having sent me a bill (harder to pay when you don’t know how much, when it’s due, or who to pay!), we were Down to the Wire and had to pay your phone bill or you would be sans communication device. No prob. Happy to pay.

Verizon had other ideas. There was no way to set up an account on line. (Or if there was I couldn’t find it. Have I mentioned I design websites? What IS it with these people?) So I clicked the little box that said click here if you want to talk to us. Love talking. A few minutes later I got a call on my non-Verizon phone. So far so good. After insisting that I wanted to talk to a live person I was finally connected to a very nice human who asked for my home Verizon phone number. Huh? I don’t have a home Verizon phone. Well, then she’d have to connect me to the wireless support center. (Remember, they called me.)

I was able to pay your bill (you’re welcome) without resorting to violence or check-writing. I did use some colorful language (but only in my head so as not to upset anyone).

There should probably be a college course called “How to Deal with Crazy Customer Service Policies and Other Survival Techniques for the Modern World.”

Here’s a crazy idea for the business world: Let’s put ‘customer’ and ‘service’ back into the concept of customer service. Probably too radical an idea.

Heavy sigh.

You better REALLY enjoy your phone this week.

Love, Mom

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