Cantankerously Yours
Introducing “Laugh at the Customer!”
By Wendell Abern
Dear Potential Laughingstocks,
Be careful! Soon, you may find yourself an unwitting participant on television’s new virtual reality show: “Laugh at the Customer!” The purpose of this game show is to humiliate a consumer who has recently purchased a product from one of the show’s sponsors. This month: DirecTV and MDU.
DirectTV provides television to my entire condo association; MDU (Multiple Dwelling Units) installs the satellite dishes.
In early February, I buy a new 50” Plasma TV set. Now all I need is a Blu-Ray High-Definition receiver so the characters on screen don’t all look like munchkin rejects.
From the hallowed walls of DirecTV and MDU, one can hear, “Gentlemen, start your engines!”
Before one can talk to an actual human being at DirecTV or MDU, one must first converse with their computers, which have been programmed to ask questions that have nothing to do with why you called.
I spend more than a half-hour (both companies combined) answering irrelevant queries, then another sixteen minutes on hold (both companies) before I can order my Blu-Ray receiver ($169) and make an appointment for an MDU technician to come install it ($49.50).
I now have the most superb picture I’ve ever seen on a TV set.
Shortly thereafter, however, my daughter calls (from Chicago) and insists I need a DVR to record programs. My son and daughter give me long-distance orders all the time. Usually, I agree with them, then don’t do what they ask. This time, however, I agree with my daughter.
DirecTV and MDU executives give me a standing ovation.
I call DirecTV and talk to the same pleasant computer. After 28 minutes, including being on hold, I am able to ask an actual human being how much my DVR will cost.
“$179.09,” a pleasant young woman answers.
“I’d like a second opinion.”
“You’ll only get the same answer.”
“Can we just put that on my next month’s bill?”
“No sir. We have to receive the money first.”
“And what if I were your mommy?”
“I’d have to tell her the same thing.”
“Charge my credit card number.”
The pleasant young woman assures me the DVR will be shipped within one to three days. And that I have to call MDU to install it.
After nineteen minutes with MDU’s computer and being on hold, I arrange a date for the installation. For another $49.50.
Three days later, Rob shows up as promised, and hooks up my DVR receiver in less time than I had spent talking to his computer.
That night, I tape my first program. A late movie. Watched it the next night. Delightful.
DirecTV and MDU now kick the game into high gear.
A week later, I’m watching a very exciting basketball game when my picture freezes. A message on the screen reads, “Searching for signal from satellite …”
The picture comes on again about ten seconds later. Things seem fine.
Later that night, I’m watching NCIS. DiNozzo and Zeva are ready to burst through a door where the killer lurks. The picture freezes, once again telling me my set is searching for a signal from the satellite. It stays frozen as I call DirecTV.
When I can finally tell the computer my problem is technical, and follow eleven minutes of instructions to solve the problem (unsuccessfully), I get to talk to a human being. Cindy.
“Cindy,” I said, “did DiNozzo and Zeva get the killer?”
“Excuse me?”
I explain. Cindy puts me through other paces the computer hadn’t considered, then says, “Oh, you have a SWIM system. That stands for “SWM. You have to call MDU.”
This is when I realize I am being secretly filmed for some kind of new virtual reality show.
I call MDU. Computer. On hold. Finally … Harold.
“Yes sir, we can send somebody out,” Harold said, “but I see there’s an unpaid bill here. We can’t send somebody out until that’s paid.”
“But I haven’t even received this month’s bill yet!” I shout.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t send out a technician until that’s paid.”
I tell him to charge my credit card, make an appointment, and three days later, Rob shows up again for another $49.50 installation.
“Hey, Rob!” I said, ushering him in. “How are the wife and kids?”
He smiles, then goes right to work. When he finishes, he says, “I did what I could, but you have a defective DVR receiver. These receivers are all on lease. And most are re-furbished. I can’t guarantee my fix will work. Call DirecTV and tell them you want a new receiver, not a re-furbished one.”
I now name the show myself. If it’s not called, “Laugh at the Customer,” it should be.
I call DirecTV. After the usual computer-plus-hold routine, I reach a nice young woman named Eileen.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes. Am I winning?”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh c’mon, the laugh meter has to be off the charts by this time! I’ve got to have a sizable lead.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Finally, I ask her to send a new DVR receiver, not a re-furbished one.
“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t guarantee you a new one unless you buy it.”
“And how much would that be?”
“$499.95.”
Long pause.
“Sir?”
“Oh. Sorry, Eileen. I was trying to see if I could hear the laughing.”
“I don’t understand.”
DirecTV and MDU must undergo extensive auditioning to find such convincing actors.
I pretend like I don’t know I’m being abused, jerked around and laughed at, and order a DVR, hoping I’ll get lucky and receive a new one. Rob shows up again (another $49.50), installs it and wishes me luck.
That was yesterday. Last night, as I was watching the news, my picture froze, announcing, “Searching for signal on satellite …”
Listen! Listen, everyone! Can you hear them? The laughter is raucous! It’s deafening!
And I advise you to not join in. You might be next.
Wendell Abern
Wendell Abern can be reached at dendyabern@comcast.net.