And the headline *almost* read:
“Woman, just shy of 24th birthday, nearly goes ape-shit on cell phone company.”
It all started a mere two weeks ago.
My Blackberry stopped receiving emails. I’m addicted to my Blackberry, and subsequently, my email. Thus, this was a big problem. Big.
Spent three and a half hours on phone with customer service. With three different people. One of whom sent me to the wrong website and then left me hanging on a Blackberry help line with no case number and a virtual dead end. Thanks, bitch.
Needless to say, I was really pissy by the end of those conversations.
I suck it up and while in AZ I thought I was brave enough to try again. Except this time I wouldn’t get stuck with the person on the phone–I’d go to the store.
Hand phone to tech. He tries everything for about 20 minutes.
“I’m sorry, maam, but this phone is defective.”
“Okay, how about you replace it?”
“I’m sorry, but we can’t–you will have to call this number and speak to the warranty department.”
Oh. Great. Really, they were *so* helpful last time.
“Thank you for calling the new AB&C Warranties, how can I assist you today?”
“Yes. My phone is broken, I would like a new one.”
35 minutes later, after 1007 questions, he assures me my phone will be at my hotel in 2 days but I will have to cover the $12 shipping fee.
Excuse me? I won’t be paying that. Yes, you can confirm with your supervisor.
The next day. Message from AB&C. They tell me to call FedEx because the address on the package is wrong.
FedEx tells me AB&C has to call them back because their accounts are private.
I call back. Again. My cheeks, I imagine, are red–because if I get pissed, I get really flushed. I’m sure I was red. I was probably sweating, for Pete’s sake. Finally get a competant person on the other line. I explain the situation. She is more than helpful.
She calls back 20 minutes later.
“The good news is your phone is near you. The bad news is that the wrong address is on the package and they refuse to change it so you will have to go pick it up.”
I’m staying in Scottsdale. It’s 35 miles long. The phone is on the opposite end of town. And traffic is shitty.
Fuck you all. “Really? Well isn’t that lovely.” At least I’ll have my phone. I calm down. Crisis averted. Right?
I drive 40 minutes.
Pick up the phone.
And get this.
The phone is broken.
And you thought I was pissed before.
Headline, instead read: “Woman goes incredibly ape shit on cell phone company, threatens to burn shit down, and ends up with big fat chunk of credit on account.”