October 3, 2003 - Rantings Of A Crazy Drunk

3 October 2003

DRUNK LEVEL: 0
(Drunk Level is measured on a scale on 1-10 - zero being dead sober - depending solely on how shitty - aka. pissed, blotto, pickled, drunk - I was when I wrote this. DL should be considered in any syntax errors, as well as grammatical faux paux and continuity errors. If you have issues with the actual content - what I am saying - well, go fuck yourself).

I'm in the customer service business. I'm a restaurant manager. Previously I was a bartender for about, oh, twelve years. At times I've been less than the stellar representative of the establishment that issued my paychecks, yet I have strived to better myself, because customer service skills tend to bleed into your everyday life. The better you treat people you encounter during your employ, the better you treat people walking down the street, at a baseball game, or the morning after a night of sportfucking.

I've had a couple of run-ins with absolute dipshits over the last week that I would like to recount for you. If you are in a position that deals with people, perhaps you may learn something. And if you're not, you can learn how to treat your spouse, kids, dog, mistress, et. al., because no lesson in life is irrelevant outside the parameters of the event.

First off, I needed to buy living room furniture. My living room as of right now consists of a Mitsubishi 65" widescreen HDTV and two plastic $5 garage sale Target Wal-Mart patio chairs that were once white but weather and time have turned varying shades of gray and... what color exactly IS that? Anyway... There's a company called Jennifer. There's Jennifer Convertibles and Jennifer Leather. The convertibles refers to furniture, not sporty two-seaters that are fun to drive in the summer and leak like a sieve when it rains. My roommate and I went to one the other day after NOT finding what we wanted at Ikea, a store where you can pull your rib cage just trying to pronounce some of the names of the things they sell. They have a $999 sofa / loveseat / chair special. Now, I'm sure it's not the greatest quality construction and the finest leather available anywhere on the seven continents (I included Antarctica even though I'm pretty sure they don't have cows - meatsicle, anyone?), but since we each have a dog that weighs around 70 pounds, and they have generally free reign through the abode, well, dogs... leather furniture... you see how that's gonna end up. We were in Hicksville (actually the name of a town on Long Island, not a snide reference to a southern town where family trees resemble sticks), and there's a Jennifer Leather on Queens Boulevard, and since I didn't have $1199 plus tax (black is $200 more), I went this morning. Now, I called two days ago to try to find out how long delivery would take (FYI, it's two weeks). I called Ivan, since I didn't have a phone book handy, and he got me the number. Well, it was the number for Jennifer Convertibles. Not Leather. Even though they are the same company, they are two different sub-entities of the same thing, and housed in two different - yet adjacent - stores. She informed me that I would have to talk to the Jennifer Leather store. I asked her if she had the number. She told me that I would have to call 1-800-JENNIFER and get it from there.

Did I mention the fucking store was right next door? As in, a paraplegic three year-old having an asthma attack could spit from one front door to the other with the wind blowing in his face and a case of dry mouth? So I called, got the number, called them the next day, got everything squared away.

Now, you would think that the phone number for the sister store would be somewhere on the very phone she was speaking to me from, but rather than expend what one could only assume to be a serious amount of available brain function to look for it, she rattled off the 800 number. Her job was done.

Lesson Number One: If you are in the customer service business, try to go the extra six and a half inches and help the person on the other end (and no, the six and a half inches was not a sexual innuendo, I know my mind usually works that way, but no, it wasn't, give it up).

Lesson numbers two and three come to us from the same entity. Verizon Wireless. We never stop working for you. Well, of course you never STOP, because to STOP, you'd really have to START, now wouldn't you?

I've had trouble with the Verizon 411 Connect service in the past. Basically the kind of problems that stem from stupid people who can't type in what I'm looking for and give me crap back (remember GIGO?) The first one was CompUSA. I even spelled it for her. I knew there was one on (again) Queens Boulevard. Then again, there's one of just about everything, at some point, on Queens Boulevard. There's an Al's Computers on... NO, CompUSA, C-O-M-P-U-S-A. Nope, couldn't find it. Good thing for the trusty phone book. Well, today I was looking for HSBC Bank. The bank my boss uses. The bank my paycheck is drawn on. Now normally I don't cash paychecks (I deposit them in my account), but since I needed $1400 for furniture, and didn't want the funds being put on hold... you get the idea. So I called, yep, you guessed it, 411 again. "City and state please?" I told her. See, I had done the preliminary research, knew there was a branch on Continental, I just can't... find... it. "What listing?" H-S-B-C Bank. "Northern, Hillside, Junction Boulevard..." No, you dumb phone-monkey, Continental Avenue. "I'm sorry sir, I'm not showing a listing." OK, let's try the safe stand-by - The Boulevard of Death. "No." Thanks, you chimp with a headset. Click.

I found it. I walked across Austin, and lo and behold, there it was. Now I wanted a credit for the fuckup 411 call, because hey, for two bucks or whatever ungodly fee they charge these days, they should at least be able to do their job. I called Verizon customer service. Requested a credit. "We don't give credits for 411, you'll have to call 411 for that."

Rrrrruhh?? Wait a minute, isn't 411 part of Verizon? "No, sir." You mean that VERIZON 411 CONNECT isn't part of VERIZON? "No." You know, I had this problem once before (CompUSA) and they credited it. "Honestly sir, we don't do that." OK... the smoke is coming out of my ears. And sparks. And a funny smell kind of like... But I digress. OK lady, get me your supervisor. "Hold please." I hold. "Can I have the phone number associated with the account?"

I LOVE this question. You get the automated system. Whether it's Verizon or HP Customer Service or whatever. The first thing they ask you to do is enter your (telephone / account / whatever) number. Now one would think that this was so when you did get to a CSR, they had all your information in front of them, ready to give you the utmost in customer service. What this really is, dear reader, is a plot by the companies that make telephone keypads. The more buttons you push, the faster those buttons wear out, the sooner you need a new phone, more phones equal higher sales, more orders for telephone keypads. It's a plot, power to the people, the struggle of the proletariat against the bourgeoisie must be won! Huh? I got Marxian for a minute. OK, I'm back. So I tell her the number. And my address to confirm my identity. And the last four of my social security number. My mom's maiden name. My shoe size. My favorite pizza place. How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? How many marbles are in this jar? OK, question hurdles have been passed.

"I'm sorry sir, but we can't issue a credit, you're going to have to call 411." So, that supervisor's not available, huh? "Hold please." Isn't this what I held for THE FIRST TIME? So I get a supervisor. She asks me how can she help me. My exact words are: "First, I want you to take away that girl's chair and make her stand all day until she learns how to talk to people." A laugh. So, my call ends up with yes, I did call this number before and have a credit issued, but that was done incorrectly, I have to call 411.

I call 411. I get... Rube... or Buck... or Bubba... I don't know, he has a drawl. I respond to the "City and state please?" question with that I need a credit for the last 411 call I made. I get an OK I can help you with that. Click-click-click in the background. And then, I swear with God as my witness may I live to be a thousand and (I'd say "never have sex again" but each day that goes by seems like I made that boast before and was caught in a lie) never drink again (GASP!), he asks me...

"And how can I help you today."

You ever been driving down the freeway doing about 80, and you decide to slow down, and instead of downshifting from sixth to fifth you go sixth to third and the car lurches and the engine jumps about 4000 RPMs and almost flies out of the hood? That's what my brain did. I said it again. Slowly. Slow enough that this redneck hillbilly FUCK could understand what I asked him for THE FIRST TIME. "Yes sir, I did that already." BBRRRWWWAAAHHH!!!! WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!? I give up. OK, thanks. Click. It took all of my remaining sanity to keep from throwing the phone out the window.

Lesson Number Two: If you work with computers, like say, telephone information, figure out how to read the information on the screen.

Lesson Number Three: Learn how to communicate effectively with the public.

(Note: Everything about Verizon was written fourteen hours after Lesson One - I had to drive to Rutherford, NJ for a job interview, then go to work, then have a discussion with a girl I really want to sleep with but can't tell her that because I work with her about men and women and relationships and it's been HOW LONG since you got laid? and I went from happy and cheerful to mellow and somber and didn't have the fire that I did at 12:30 this afternoon).