As is sometimes the case, Dear Reader, you'll need to pay close squinty-eyed attention to the squirrelly language of this post. I apologize, yet have found no way to share customer service stories without resort to reproduction of brain-bursting actual dialogues. You will, perhaps, remember our efforts to restore refrigeration in the midst of a very hot series of days during a Manor Fest several years ago. That led to discovering the Queen of the Universe is actually a Supervisor at the local Tête de Hergé (West of the Lone Alp Region) Sears Customer Service Center. Who knew?
But today, My Loves, we wish to share with you the derring-do of Comcast Customer Service. Please note my careful avoidance of tired jokes, such as declaring "customer service" to be the height of oxymoronic phrasing. I'm infinitely more respectful of Comcast than of Sears, for Comcast rules our internet access, even if only to the Computer Turret of Marlinspike Hall. We pay for wifi -- in the form of the world's strongest router -- but due to the manifold construction intricacies of The Manor, are only able to access the signal in a far off, outer limit suite of medieval bedrooms, sky high in the Northwest Wing.
We also fork over money for television services, mostly for access to the Animal Planet channel, as the Feline Triumvirate is in lust for Jackson Galaxy on My Cat from Hell. Sometimes we spot them taking notes in a steno pad, which can lead to disturbing experimentations. I confess to countering with Pit Bulls and Parolees and the goings-on at Villalobos Rescue Center. Marmy and Buddy, Chief Instigators of All Manor Shenanigans, flee the television viewing area as soon as the first Pit Bull appears, but sweet Dobby (90% angel, 10% house elf) will try to purr and blink spasmodically at the dogs for a good quarter hour before the barking and muscular jaws defeat even his peacemaking dedication. Yes, so... revenons à nos moutons...we pay for 140 channels or so, in order to have Animal Planet.
Today's post comes to you in the form of the email instructions I sent to Fred about this past weekend's chats with Rajat, Hazel, and Akanksha, three of Comcast's best agents. Fred was so jealous, and my wretched hands so tired, that we decided to pass the consumer communication torch to Fred. I may also have threatened to slit my wrists should I have to speak, in text or verbal format, with any Comcast personnel ever again. The gleam in my beady eyes proved quite convincing, apparently.
So here are my instructions to the Good Fred, complete with accurate reproductions of the chat transcripts with Rajat, Hazel, and Akanksha, as well as the two "non-contracts" they came up with. Well, maybe there have been a few minor changes in account numbers and such, to protect Captain Haddock's personal information, though who would dare to "steal his identity" would be a tremendous thief, indeed!
Godspeed, Dear Fred. Godspeed.
© 2015 L. Ryan