I am a pretty easy-going person. I’m laid back. I’m cool. I don’t stress over things I can’t control. But one outfit has managed to find the chink in my zen armor of serenity. SBC Ameritech is slowly turning me into a mass of quivering rage. A mass of quivering rage, I might add, with no telephone service.
The saga began two weeks ago, when a couple of SBC flunkies came by my office to “upgrade” our telephone system. After they left, it was determined that they had succeeded in fucking up the system completely. So I called SBC in an attempt to get the flunkies back out here. This should be simple, right? RIGHT?
BUT NO! This is SBC Ameritech, Satan’s Own Telecommunications Company. Those goddamn fucking fuckers are the most incompetent, disorganized, uninformed people on the face of god’s green earth. I’m fairly certain that no one in history has ever asked for telephone service before, based on their utter confusion. I was transferred to different departments no less than seven times, each time being assurred that I was about to be connected with the person who could help me. Finally, after 45 minutes of this, I was FINALLY able to register my issue, and was given a trouble ticket number. Go me!
The next day, I got a call from SBC. Guesssss what?!?!? The people who had issued me my trouble ticket number couldn’t help me! But they could transfer me to someone who could! Oh, frabjous day, I got to spend another half hour on the phone being transferred around, while simultaneously plotting SBC’s downfall, before I was assurred that someone would come out and fix the phone lines.
And he did. He was there in a couple hours and fixed everything to my complete satisfaction. All was well in the universe. My sense of balance was regained.
Until Friday.
On Friday, I came home looking forward to listening to my beloved Giants play the Reds. Since I am just a little outside of KNBR’s 50,000 watts of basebally goodness, I listen on the internet. Or, I did until last Friday. Because when I got home on Friday, my phone line was dead. Dead as a fucking doornail. What does this mean? Why, that I have to deal with those goddamn syphilitic monkey felchers at SBC Ameritech again. They make my breath go short and fast with rage. They cause the acid in my stomach to churn. My fury is like that of a…very angry person with no access to the National League Champion San Francisco Giants.
Since Friday, I have spoken to SBC repair no less than six times. They have sent repairpeople by my hovel twice. They have insisted that my line is working. (Guess what? IT ISN’T!) They tell me that I “must not have been in” when the first repairperson was by yesterday, because “he knocked and no one answered.” I WAS THERE ALL FUCKING DAY. Waiting for his ass to show up, I might add. They wanted me to be there today, for the next guy to show up. No can do, gotta go to work. The person at Repair suggested that the rental office could let the guy in. Fine with me.
About an hour ago, I got a call on my cell phone from the repair guy. Despite the fact that it was THEIR IDEA to have the rental office let him in, they’re not legally able to ender without the resident being present. I will have my third visit from an SBC guy tonight after I get home from work.
I’m moving in a month and a half, and I’m almost tempted to go without internet access at home just to avoid dealing with these incompetent mouthbreathers, but the thought of missing out on a month and a half of Giants baseball makes me want to curl up into a little ball of whimpering misery. I can promise you one thing: when I move, I will avoid using these miserable fuckers at all costs.
