I will share my FP after we all sing the following to the tune of Fernando’s Hideaway:
This is a Kos community.
Our bitching brings us unity!
So take this opportunity
To tell us what has pissed you off!
We share our drinks and pootie pics.
We can complain here just for kicks
So come and share a gripe or six.
At whining we will never scoff.
You’ll also find compassion here,
And folks who’ll lend a caring ear.
Don't hesitate to share a tear.
Our kindest thoughts to you we’ll send.
How sad if this should slip from sight.
It is our playground on this night.
You'll find the button to the right.
If you're inclined, please recommend.
Ole!
Whatever. Slow day.
And speaking of slow...
I'm trying to get a computer fixed. Easy, right? Or should have beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen... (The floor tilts suddenly from under her. The walls begin to slide by. Flashes of color slip past with increasing speed as she hears the sound of clocks ticking and phones ringing. "You've got mail!' "You've got mail!" With dawning horror she realizes she’s fallen into the endless f#^*ing problem of customer service!
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My son's birthday is in February. February 18th, to be exact. And for his birthday, he got a computer. Over the next few days, he fired it up. Played some games. Used his typing tutor. Did some research for school. On March 10th? Black screen. Self-diag reads a 10008 error. The cross-reference indicates that this means: "Ha Ha! Your Hard Drive is Dead! Good Luck With That!"
Wha – huh? We’ve had this for 3 weeks! The hard drive’s dead? Well – wow.
And so it begins. Keep in mind that each line is a separate, much-more-complex-than-indicated email over days, then weeks. In fact - oh, look! - its been two months today. WOOHOO!:
Me to them via email: Answers to all of their questions, model numbers, the problem, etc.
Them back to me: Yes it appears your hard drive is dead. We will send you a new one. You will send us the old one. We need a credit card number. When can we call you for that? Give us your phone number, two dates and times we can call.
Me: Okay, here's my number. Here are two dates. You can call me at these times.
Them: Okay.
Me: (Sitting by the phone. Checking my nails. Looking out the window. Suns rise and set.)
Them: ((((Crickets))))
Me: Hi there, you were supposed call me. Please tell me how to proceed.
Them: We're terribly sorry for the confusion. Please give us your phone number and two more dates and times that we can call you.
Me: Here are two more dates and times. Will you call?
Them: Yes, of course, we are sorry for the inconvenience.
Me: Waiting by the phone.
They call. We talk.
A few days later the drive shows up. My hub unpacks it and tries to put it in the machine. It’s not the right part.
Me: It’s not the right part. Here are the part numbers on the one you sent, here are the part numbers on the one in the unit.
Them: It’s the right part.
Me: No. It says it should be replaced by part #494534-001. This is wrong.
Them: It’s the right part.
Me: It's not the right part! It is the wrong part! It doesn’t even fit in the machine. The tabs are configured wrong. The placement of the screw holes is wrong. It’s the wrong part!
Them: It appears that it’s the wrong part. Please return it and we’ll ship you the right one.
Wrong part is boxed up and shipped back.
"Hey honey? Didn’t we box that thing up and ship it back a while ago? Whaddaya suppose happened?"
Me: We shipped you back an incorrect part. I haven’t heard anything. Please tell me how to proceed.
Them: According to our records, we have received the incorrect part from you.
Me: Uh, okay. And?
Them: You have sent us the incorrect part. According to our technical specifications, the part you sent is not the part that comes with the computer you have. Please send us the correct part.
Me: (Rythmic thudding sounds, as of a desktop being repeatedly slammed with a forehead. Each "thud!" accompanied by a guttural grunt trapped behind tightly-clenched teeth. The thumping ceases and a long exhaled breath follows.) Okay. Okay, here. Let me try: The hard drive in my computer died and you said you'd send a replacement, but you sent me the wrong part so I sent you the wrong part back. The only reason I sent YOU the wrong part is that you sent ME the wrong part FIRST.
Them: According to our records, you have sent us the incorrect part, which is correct. We would be happy to send you the correct part, but first you’ll need to give us your credit card number. Please supply us with your telephone number and two dates and times that we can call for that information.
Me: I already gave you that information. All of it. Including the credit card number.
Them: You did?
Me: Yes I did. Do I really have to wait two more days when you already have that information?
Them: According to our records, we have that information and we will ship you the correct part immediately.
Me: Wouldn't that be a pleasant surprise?
Hey, hon? Did we ever get that hard drive? No? What the hell?
Me: ‘Member that hard drive?
Them: According to our records, we shipped it to you and you received it on April 16th.
Me: ARE YOU HIGH? That was the FIRST REPLACEMENT. It was the WRONG PART. Seriously, are you smoking dope in your mom’s basement? ‘Cuz I’m picturing this being run by the gang from "That 70s Show" when they were all downstairs passing the joint around the table. Is that you?
Them: Heh. Heh, heh. Dude, you got any chips?
Me: WHAT?!?
Them: Oh, uh, I mean, apparently that was the first shipment. We regret the error. We are happy to send you the correct replacement part. To do this we simply require that you provide us with your phone number and two dates and times when we can reach you so we can contact you for your credit card number.
Me: (Footsteps recede from the computer. A drawer opens. Water runs briefly, followed by the sibilant whisper of a fine carbon blade being lightly honed on a whetstone. The footsteps return and a soft "thump" sounds, as though someone has fallen to their knees. A sharp inhale through clenched teeth, followed by several quick gasps. A convulsive heartbeat later, the wet, slippery sounds commence.
Later, Next to the eviscerated corpse they find a piece of paper, its blotched message scrawled in blood: a phone number, two dates and the time that they can call.)
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Still waitin' on the damned drive.
What's your f*%$&in' problem?