Note: This is a continuation of the riveting story of drama, mystery and intrigue that began with Volume One and continued with Volume 2. If you start reading now and don’t go back to read the previous posts, you will be confused and dismayed, and probably annoyed.
Actually, by the end of this you’ll probably be all of those things anyway. Assuming you’re not already.
Chapter 15: The Next Morning.
I wake Sunday morning to find that I still have no email. Part of me is shocked; another part is not surprised at all.
So I call Yahoo again. I figure I’ll just keep calling and calling and calling and calling and calling and calling and calling and calling and calling and calling and calling and calling until every person in that building trembles with fear when the phone rings and somebody resets the goddamned password just to get rid of me.
Or until someone files a restraining order — whichever comes first. (My money’s on the restraining order.)
I hold for 20 minutes before my latest Yahoo frenemy Lisa the Rep answers. I tell my sad story again and ask to know the status of my order. Like all those who have come before, she is SO VERY SORRY. I begin to pull the hairs out of my head, one by one.
Lisa finds my issue in the SYSTEM (which, thankthegods, was updated yesterday); it has already been escalated to the Second Tier of Security (I think I hear angels sing in the background when she says this), but because she is so very sorry she’s adding a “note” to the “document” telling these mysterious, shadowy ENGINEERS that I’ve requested the resolution be “expedited.”
I wonder out loud what good the “note” on the “document” will do if nobody ever actually OPENS the fucking “document.” I am ignored.
I ask again to talk to the ENGINEERS. I’m told again that there’s no phone number for the ENGINEERS. They cannot be reached. I ask, “Are they invisible, too?” but I’m ignored again.
I confirm my phone number, so the ENGINEERS with no phones can call me when the shit’s finally done. I hang up and – you know — wait.
Chapter 16: The BFF Saves Me, Again.
In desperate need of a distraction, I meet the BFF for shopping and lunch. She offers the obligatory BFF sympathy and then makes fun of my ass in those pants. The balance of the universe seems to be restored.
Despite the levity, I continue to check my phone every two minutes like clockwork, just in case they called and I missed it. Doesn’t matter that my ringer is set to FIVE-ALARM-FIRE-SIREN volume. You never know.
No one ever calls. Again, I’m both shocked AND completely unsurprised.
Chapter 17: The Last Call.
When I get home, I call Yahoo one last time. 20 more long hold minutes (hold minutes are like dog years — for every one minute spent on hold, you age seven), then James the Rep picks up and we go through the whole spiel again – First/Last Name, Birthday, don’t know the pets question, eight digits, yada yada yada yada yada fucking yada.
My story just keeps getting longer and longer, and of course James is (say it with me) SO VERY SORRY.
I consider cutting myself.
He tells me my issue has been escalated to the Second Tier of Security (whispered like we’re in church) and they are working on it rightthisveryminute. I ask if that means it will be fixed today. James says he can’t make that guarantee. I ask who CAN make that guarantee. James is so very sorry, but no one can.
I say, “I do not believe you.” James is taken aback. I ask again to speak to the ENGINEERS. I’m told that is impossible. “There is no phone number for the ENGINEERS. I am so very sor-”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP, JAMES. SOMEONE in that office has a phone number for the ENGINEERS. They are not lost on a desert island with a four-toed statue. They are not imprisoned in an evil king’s dungeon. They are in the very same time-space continuum as you and me. In fact, they’re probably in that very building with you, right now. SOMEONE SOMEWHERE IN THAT BUILDING CAN HELP ME, JAMES. Find that person and put them on the line. NOW.”
I age another 70 dog-hold minutes until, finally, ALEC’s sweet voice comes on the line: ”Hello, Bejewell.”
Chapter 18: I Want To Make Out With Alec.
Alec has been informed of my situation. He does NOT make me go through it again, he does NOT ask for my birthday, he does NOT request my eight digits. He is NOT “so very sorry.” Instead, Alec is trying rightthisverymoment to reach the ENGINEERS (who apparently DO have a phone after all) to tell them how important it is to reset my password before the end of the day. When he can’t get through, he tells me he will continue to try FOR AS LONG AS IT TAKES.
Alec ASSURES me this will be resolved by the end of the day. He ASSURES me that I will receive a call from the ENGINEERS before 8:00pm. He ASSURES me that, even though I am a complete fucking IDIOT, he forgives me and will see to it that I have access to my email before I go to bed tonight.
I hang up, feeling very, very ASSURED. (And a little turned on.)
Chapter 19: A Half-Assed Resolution Is Better Than No Resolution At All.
I wait another two hours, but no call. I begin to think that Alec was just like all the rest of them, just another lying liar with his pants on fire, telling me what he thought I wanted to hear with no intention of actually following through on any of it.
Et tu, Alec?
I begin to hate Alec.
Just before my 8:00pm deadline, I decide to check the alternate email address I’ve given the yahoos at Yahoo at least a dozen times, to see if *perhaps* there has been some other form of communication with me regarding this issue.
And THERE IS AN EMAIL. From the Second Tier of Security. (I swear I can hear the angels again. Such sweet pretty voices.) The ENGINEERS have made contact! No phone call as promised, but who the hell cares? It’s something!
Chapter 20: Finally, The End Of The Most Ridiculously Long and Pointless Tale About Shitty Customer Service Ever Told
We’ve been hanging out in our office basement all weekend, playing Dungeons and Dragons and Doom and smoking weed and shit, and laughing at all the “notes” on your “document.” After your 15th phone call to Yahoo and our 27th bag of potato chips, we finally decided to take pity on your poor, pathetic soul and flipped the switch on your email account from OFF to ON.
Use this password to access your account: FU%C^K!YOU!(IDI0T)
You can stop crying now and bandage up those knife cuts on your leg. Good luck dealing with the 167 emails that will be waiting for you after two days of no access. It’s been really fun fucking with you.
Don’t call us again or we will file that restraining order, after all.
C YA, wouldn’t want to B YA –
The Second Tier of Security (a.k.a. Joe and Mike the ENGINEERS)
And so endeth the story.