Saturday, September 22, 2012

Turns Out, Being A Judge-y Asshole Doesn't Get Me Better Service

We moved.  Again.  To a house that (hopefully) does not have a mold issue.

:::le sigh:::

So, Sky King and I did the whole, "establish new service" for all the shit we can't live without.  Like heat, air, gas.  Cable and organic produce deliveries.  You know, the essentials.

We did the "Internet account log-in request new service" stuff.  I took care of electricity.  Then gas.  Then produce.

I got a confirmation email (I guess, I wasn't really giving two shits, nor paying attention) about the gas being stopped at the old place.  I remembered to tell Sky King to go hang at the new place from 8-12 on Wednesday.

Wednesday waiting day came and went.  No gas man came and went, beyond Sky King and his affinity for all things spicy and burrito-y. 

At no point, did anyone think to call the gas company and reschedule, so that we would have water not set to "arctic" come Friday (moving day).

But we were also finding out that the dipshit that used to live here not only left a cat, but left Comcast on.  So maybe we figured she left the gas on.

Either way, this did not matter on Wednesday.

It mattered on Saturday.

Me: Princess, go take a shower.

::::shower happens, child comes out in clean clothes with wet hair:::

Me: Monkey Boy, go take a shower.

:::more showers happen, boy comes out, complaining that Princess used all the hot water:::

At this point, I delay my shower, because I have surmised that the water heater is shitty, and can't handle more than one shower in a short period of time.  Noted. I did not, however, think further beyond.  If I had, I might have realized the great Truth of no hot water sooner. possibly.

Later, I get in the shower to wash off the filth, sweat and dust.

No hot water.

I scrub the essentials, jump out.

Me: Honey, did you turn the hot water heater up two days ago, when I asked?
Him: No.  I couldn't find it.
Me::::trying not to choke him:::  Would you mind doing that?
Him: Sure.

Umm, there's no gas.

Me:  Fuck.

The next day, he comes to me with his phone in hand, with the comment, "Wow, you better tell my wife that.  Good luck."

This is the part where they tell me they have no record of me turning on service, and it will be 48 hours before they can get anyone out to help us.

After what seemed like 25 hours of discussion about how unreasonable I am, and how I should have known it wasn't happening because I didn't get a confirmation blah blah blah, I might have said, you're telling me that we can remotely bomb an entire NATION, but I can't have hot water for two more days, because it is impossible for you to tweak the schedule to get someone out here sooner? Seriously?

Then it went downhill.

I was transferred to a supervisor, where I dazzled him with my witty banter about 4-day-old puberty sweat, and stanky asses, and moving, and heat.  He was impressed, I could tell.

Then it got ugly.  All I asked was could he pretty please with organic, fair harvested, free trade sugar on top, get someone out sooner.  Or, walk me through breaking into the box myself, so I could press the damn "gas on" button.

Then he began reading from his script.  You know, the one they pull out whenever they don't want to give people their way? The one that reiterates all their bad news, but makes it sound like you deserve the fate they are handing out? The one where they are NOT HELPFUL?

That's when I got all business-owner-y, talking about customer service, and job security coming from that same service.  And things got worse.

Me: So you're telling me there is no way, AT ALL, that someone can come to my house for all of 5 minutes to flick a switch, or hit a button, or whatever, because somewhere along the way my request was lost in the Internet ether?
Him: Yes,ma'am.  (This is where he continues to read from his script, where most of the sentences begin with "you should have" and "in the future".)

Have I told you, I am stepping down off my awful anti-depressant, and one of the many side effects of doing so is a searing murderous rage?

Me:  What, are you Union, or something?
Him:  (First sign of having a personality) Yes!  We are!  It's amazing for the workers!  Blah blah blah....
Me: But not so much with customers, I see.  Have your supervisor call me.

It's not looking good for the future of our body odor, people.

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