Earlier today I attempted to purchase minutes for my prepaid cell phone. I only use it for emergencies and the prepaid option is a nice fit. I called the customer service department and spoke with Giselle. I recognized the voice immediately. Giselle had helped my set up my phone a few months back. She is a very good at what she does. I gave her my credit card information and stated there was an error message of some sort. While she transferred me to the “credit card” department, I looked up my credit card account. There was a hold from the company. I hear a new voice on the phone – Anna. I say “Hello, Anna!” She sticks to a script. Can you believe that? She doesn’t say hello or anything. I wonder if bad phone sex starts off like this.
Anna begins to ask me questions. I immediately ask her if she is going to hit my card again. No she says. Then she asks me the same question Giselle asks me. “You’re not going to attempt to get another authorization on my credit card, are you Anna?” No, she says. Guess what? Yeah.
Anna gets the same error message. Hmmm …I wonder if they thought Anna had magic fingers or something and typing the SAME information would yield a different result. What was it Einstein said? Something about insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Clearly, Anna doesn’t know what she is doing so I ask to speak with a supervisor.
Enter Manny. Manny gives me the same song and dance and then advises me to contact my bank and have them update my address information. Why? I ask Then he tells me something insane. Now I’m pissed. You guys don’t get this because of …well… you’re guys. But every once and again a guy will try to talk to you like you’re 3. Manny made that mistake today. He attempts to explain how the money leaves my bank through the magic of computers.
First of all, Manny can kiss my ass. I explained to him in no uncertain terms that both of his chickies got an authorization on my credit card so therefore he has an authorization code. All credit cards work the same, baby! So as the big bad “supervisor” you should be able to put through a charge. What’s that, Manny? You don’t have access? You aren’t allowed to …ha ha ha. So all the phone sex bitches in the world know how to handle this situation but Mr. Corporation, Mr. “I got headcount” doesn’t know how to make the credit card say cha-ching.
Isn’t funny how the more specialized or ‘higher up’ a person the less they know? I should have stuck with Giselle. She’s got a great voice and would make a lot more working for me. Look at me. Trying to phone pimp somebody!
Anyhow, I’m not naming the company. Usually, I would pen a professional letter to the corporate office, but what’s the point? I recall JP Morgan saying something about if a customer doesn’t like your service they aren’t going to write you a letter – they’ll just leave.
Here’s my ass. Pretty, huh?
If your name is Manny don’t call me for a few days. Otherwise, I may do some wicked female domination thing. And today I’m feeling particularly evil.
Now, do you see why I tend to avoid customer service representatives? I’m going to go back to my old habit of conducting ALL business via letter except in the case of companies which blow (and not the good kind).
When I have a moment, I suppose I should do some research for a new cell phone. I don’t want to. Right now I just want to sink back into the World of Cheryl (Home of Cheap Phone Sex) where naughty men and women contact me and tell me dirty things. And touching. Let’s not forget the touching while chatting about naughty, dirty things.
Oh, there’s the phone. Talk to you later.
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