E.T Can't Phone Home

by Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for smoke and a blanket.

Recently my handicapped son inadvertently agreed to have his phone carrier switched from AT&T to Tin Can and a String.  I have been trying to get it switched back for the past three days.

I wonder what the record is for being put on hold and/or talking to three nationalities? Right now I am at two hours, dealing with three different accents stretched from one hemisphere to the other.  While on hold, I got some good advice from my friends via the internet  for dealing with phone company employees lacking in communication skills.

Thanks to Don I started my converations with "My name is Jody Worsham. I am calling on behalf of my brain injured son. I am recording this conversation. Please state your name and position in Tin Can and String Communications."  With a couple of repetitions and a few supervisors later (plus about an hour of time) there is no longer a contract with Tin Can and String, no penalties, and we are free to reconnect with AT&T.

Fast forward to 12:30 central standard time and my call to AT&T. First I talk to Chris and explain the situation. He  transfers me to Roxanne who says I must give her my son's social security number which I refuse to do since they already had it from the previous twelve years my son had a phone with AT&T. She then tells me I must pay $100 if I do not supply the social security number. I tell her I wish to speak to their Legal Depart, (thanks Rose for that phrase).   Roxie tells me they don't have one. Ha!  I ask to speak to her supervisor. She puts me on hold (about twenty minutes). She comes back and says there will be no $100 fee and I don't have to give her his social security number. She then tells me the earliest they can activate his phone is eight days from now. I explain that we are traveling, I must be able to call my son to remind him to take medications, drink water, and for him to dial 911 in an emergency. She puts me on hold. No music, no weather report, no indication I have not been disconnected.

Fearing my phone is about to go dead, I try to switch phones and drop it. I call AT&T back. I talk to the same machine, I think. I punch numbers. I talk to Sira Lanka who never heard of Christie or Roxie but transfers me to Navarro. I explain the entire situation again.  I have it down to about 10 concise sentences by now. He can't find my address even though I am sitting at my desk with four AT&T phone bills in front of me for two landlines, three cell phones, and a hot spot sent to the exact address I am giving him. I am put on hold. He is back. I am put on hold. He is back. He finds my address. He has the last four numbers of  my son's social security card.
No I will not give him the rest of the number. It is already in the system from the past twelve years son has had the phone. There is no reason At&T needs a social security number. He puts me on hold. He is back. Never mind, he has the number.

"If he doesn't need the same phone number, the connection can be reinstated in less than eight days."

"Fine." I get the new number.

"The connection can be made in seven days." 

"Unacceptable. It must be done tomorrow. Connect me to your supervisor."

"Hold, please...."

wait wait wait.

"We can make the connection in three days.

"Unacceptable. Connect me to another supervisor."

"Hold, please."

"Hay whoa. How you are ?"

"Frustrated." I repeat concise sentences 1-10, with emphasis and careful enunciation on paragraph two from above, leaving town, need to access son at all times, 911 etc.

"I tok wi dee-patcher. Call you back."

Two hours and thirty-one minutes later the phone rings. A recording  asks "Do you have time for a survey as to how AT&T is doing based on your recent interaction?

I put "it"on hold.



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E.T....No Pal of Mine!

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for the days of Ma Bell

If you watch NatGeo or the Science channel, you know all about the theories of past alien invasions.  I am here to tell you that the aliens are back.  They have used their far advanced technology to infiltrate the internet, our phone systems, and Pay Pal.

Now I know many of you have had to deal with tech support from those who have English as their fourth or fifth language and that is trying, especially if you have older ears trying to  listen to English  spoken with an accent thicker than mud on a hog in August.  But since my recent experience with the alien infiltrated Pay Pal, I would take Mud Hog spoken with any accent.

I shall explain.  After complaining for years about no longer having my wonderful Salad Master Machine that I used twice a year to make potato salad, I found one on E-Bay.  Hooray! And just in time, as it turns out, for the 4^th…of Never!

I checked the pictures of the Salad Master Machine on E-Bay.  It was just like my old one. I compared new prices from the factory.  I looked at the ratings for the seller.  I even had a Pay Pal account to secure my payment so all was good…or so I thought.

Time to make my purchase. When I got to the “How Do You Want to Pay?” I clicked Pay Pal . Long pause as I search through three hundred manila folders for my Pay Pal log in name.   You can see my level of computer competency right?  I found I had failed to write it and my password down.  Not to worry. It’s Pay PAL.  When I couldn’t log in, Pay Pal conveniently asked me to click the following boxes:  “Forgot Log In name? click  Forgot password?…click.  Can’t remember either?  Click and double click.”

 After clicking enough times to secure my position on “Dancing with the Stars, Flamenco Night”, I submitted my telephone number to verify I had an account.  Yep.  There it was…under the yahoo e-mail account that hasn’t let me in since some one…or some THING changed my password years ago and didn’t tell me what it was.

Appearing on the not-yet-blue-scream-of-death computer monitor was my old e-mail account name and “You have been sent instructions for changing your password to the above e-mail.”  AAAAARGGG.  Just before I manhandled the monitor I read the second line. 

“For further assistance click here and leave your phone number.  You will be called immediately to verify that this is your account.”  Good. I can explain my problem.

I clicked…again…and within 60 seconds the phone rang.  A computer (?) generated voice (a.k.a. E.T.?) asked me to punch in the security code I had been given on the blue-scream-of-frustration.  I did. Then E.T. told me how to change my password.  After repeatedly tapping the new password into the phone, E.T. told me a confirmation would be sent….wait for it…wait for it…to the  e-mail account I could not access.

Back to the blue-scream-of-rising-blood-pressure monitor.  “Need help?  E-mail us your problem.” Ooook….

“I need to change my e-mail address on my Pay Pal Account.”

“Instructions will be sent within 24 hours to (you guessed it) the e-mail on your account.” 

Back to the black-and-blue-stream-of-explicatives.  On the monitor was “Call us”. I did.   E.T.’s mother answered.

 “Please say in a few words the nature of your problem.”

“I need to edit the e-mail address on my Pay Pal Account.”

“I can help you with that.  Access your account now and I will lead you step by step through the process.”

“That’s the problem.  I can’t get into my e-mail account.”

“I’m sorry.  I did not get that.  Say AGAIN or say MORE INFORMATION.”

“AGAIN.”

“Please say in a few words the nature of your problem.”

“MORE INFORMATION”

“Please say in a lot more words and with as many details as possible, what we can do to help you with this very important and frustrating problem you are currently experiencing.”

“I want to speak to an earthling!   A being…  or an illegal alien  with an accent…”

“Oh, I can help you with that request.  Push #1 for Klingon …Push 2 for  Mork, Push 3 for  Alph….”

CLICK!!!

I wonder if they take cash on E-Bay …. or the Mother Ship???

The I-Groan, Part 2

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved to learn Indian Smoke Signals

I was beginning my second minute of lecturing on the virtues of taking notes on paper versus electronic devices at the AT&T store, when the eleven-year-old rolled her eyes completely out of sight. That signified total shutdown from listening to anything else I had to say.  I have seen this before many times.  I don’t think Alex, the AT&T employee who was helping me, had.  He was making the sign of the cross, even though I was sure he was Baptist, and dialing 1-800-CALL-An-EXORCIST.   I stopped talking and her eyes came back into view just before he hit dial.  The color came back to Alex’s face and we continued.  I completed my notes, paid for the phone, and we left.  Alex held the door open calling out “God Bless”.   I am sure we will be on every prayer list in town by Sunday, both for her sake and mine.

That afternoon with I-Phone, charger, adaptor, and notes in hand, we loaded up the children, packed the RV and headed for our favorite camping spot.  I decided to try out the new I-Phone on the way.  Now, just so you know, we have a family plan of 700 roll over minutes of which I used 5 last month so I basically have to review my notes every time I answer any cell phone.  

I had already learned how to translate toddler gibberish, speak fluent two-year-old, and decipher every nuance of eye rolling before the first six children were in high school.  I was tri-lingual before these last two were even born. The children never bothered to learn even rudimentary “Senior”.  We were destined to have a failure to communicate.

“I think I will try out my new I-phone and call my sister and tell her we are on our way,” I confidently said.

“You might want to practice first,” said Miss Eleven-Year-Old-Know-it-All, between the sounds of her texting, the whirling sounds of sending, and the beeping notifications of receiving on her cell phone.  “I’ll call you.”

I was waiting for my phone to “ring”.  Instead, it shocked me and I dropped it.

“You’ve got it on vibrate.  Do you want it to vibrate?”

“No, I want it to ring.  I don’t want an electric shock in my hands or my pants.”

“Which ring tone do you want?  You can have a ring tone that is different for each person?  Do you want separate ring tones for just our immediate family?”

“Ten ring tones?  How will I ever remember ten ring tones much less which tone is for which family member?”

“You can put a picture of the person calling you so you will know who it is.  Here, I’ll put my picture so it will come up when I am calling you.”

“Couldn’t I just say ‘Hello, who is this?”

“Fine,” eyes rolling toward the ceiling.  “Here is a high pitched ring that you are sure to hear.”

My phone rang.  The sound of an alien spaceship circling our car sounded, the dog began to howl, and the eleven-year-old’s picture appeared on my I-phone screen.

“Answer it!” my husband yelled above the howling dog and the sounds of the alien space ship trying to land. 

“How?” I queried?

“Slide the bar at the bottom and tap on the number.  Here let me” came from Miss Queen of the I-Phone.

“No, if you do it I will never learn.  Now where is the bar?” I said scanning the tiny screen.

“I don’t know but I’m looking for one” came from my dear tee-totaler Hubby as he swerved the truck from side to side. “Just answer the phone so the dog will stop howling and the space ship can land.”

“Hello?  Who is this?”

“It’s me. Look at the picture.   I’m right behind you.”

“Ok, I think I have that.  Slide, tap, say hello.  Got it.  Now how do I text?”

“Well to text, you tap the green oval at the top, type in the address from your contact list, type your message, then hit send.  If you are texting and someone is calling you, you can tap accept, reject….”

“STOP.  Don’t give me so many options.  Speak slower, not louder.  You aren’t making any sense…”

My husband reached for his cell phone.  “9-1-1?  What is my emergency?  Are you kidding?  I’m in a four passenger pick-up truck with a Shih Tzu, a seven-year-old and an eleven-year-old who do not speak ‘Senior”, a phone that E.T. tried to call home on, a wife who can’t see a bar when it is right in front of her and it’s an hour and a half to our destination.”

“Yes, sir.  Stay calm.  Alex notified us. There is an I-Phone Crisis Counselor about a mile behind you.  He has been following you since your wife left the store.  He is a certified Instructor for I-Phone 4 and he is fluent in “Senior”.  I’ll stay on the line until he catches up with you.”

My husband pulled the truck, trailer, two kids, one dog, and three cell phones safely to the shoulder of the road and waited for the I-Phone Crisis Counselor to catch up to us.

As the I-Phone Counselor spoke to me slowly, using simple one syllable words, I said to myself:

“Who needs a cell phone anyway?  Maybe I’ll just send out smoke signals.   There’s plenty coming from my ears right now.”