Jean Starr

Last week, my Internet service kept fading in and out, and then my phone (service provided by the same company as my Internet) started crackling loudly. I had to call the toll-free number from my cell phone because it was so loud. The call was answered by the resident cyborg that asked, "Is this a problem with your DSL or your cell service?"

"Neither," I replied.

"I'm sorry," it apologized. "I did not understand you. Please say ‘DSL' or ‘cell service.'"

I was getting a little annoyed at this digital voice's condescending tone, and so I may have copped an attitude.

"It's neither, you nitwit! It's my home phone service," I said.

It responded by giving up the secret phone number these companies all have to reach a real human being. My call was answered by a fast-talking female mumbler. She asked me if I had gone outside, opened up the phone box and plugged in a phone to see if the trouble was inside or outside.

"If the problem is with your equipment, you will be charged a fee for a service representative to come out," she warned.

All my phones need to be plugged into a wall outlet to work, so I couldn't do that. I told her so. She repeated her warning about the charge in her best "Do you feel lucky, punk?" tone.

I told her, "Look, I can either go out and buy a non-electric phone or pay the service fee. Just send someone out."

"Do you want us to send a service technician out?" she asked.

"Yes, I do," I said. (I felt lucky.)

"We can get someone out next Tuesday," she said.

I told her I wanted someone out the next day.

"A service technician will be at your home tomorrow between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m.," she said.

A very nice young man came to my house in the morning and located the problem, which was in a box down the street.

So here's my theory: There are only two guys in Northwest Indiana who know how to fix this stuff. Obviously, they're in such high demand that these companies hire people all over the world to answer toll-free numbers, most of which are answered by computer-generated voices. When service acts up, one-third of the customers live with it for as long as they can because they don't have time to be put on hold or try to talk to a cyborg. Another third gets through to the cyborg or the fast-talking mumbler and are convinced they're just too inept to have good service.

I'm proud to say I've graduated to the third group that actually finds a way through this maze of annoyance. This time, anyway.

The opinions expressed solely are those of the writer. Jean Starr can be reached at jeanstarr@verizon.net.