The Redistribution of Accountability In
America
Walk In My Shoes
March 21, 2001
Some people (mostly from Florida or California) would have you believe that one of the greatest joys in life is waking up to the freshly snow covered ground of New England. For those not familiar with a New England winter, don’t fret. All you are missing is shoveling driveways, commuting to work in treacherous conditions, slugging it out at the grocery store as starvation panic spreads and the inevitable failure of utilities resulting from downed telephone and power lines.
Just recently, I opened my eyes early one morning as winter storm Emily was blanketing the Northeast in a foot or more of wonderfully wet and heavy snow. In a vain attempt to fight against the tide of baby boomers who insist on extending “snow days” into adulthood, I reached for the phone to contact my work associates and assure them that, with some delay and inconvenience, all scheduled appointments for the day would be kept. Let’s face it, what the hell good are millions of yuppies driving millions of SUV’s if you can’t persevere against the weather! nbsp;
Not surprisingly, as the telephone reached my ear all I could hear was dead silence. What a shock, once again the “Oldest Phone Company In America” had provided me with nothing. The good news is that my damn beeper still worked and it was queuing messages like drunks lined up at a bar on St. Patrick’ Day (sorry for the politically incorrect reference but I will make it up by buying all of my Irish friends a drink on March 17).
Again, I figured what the hell good are all of those zillions of cell phones if you can’t use one when the landlines go down. So, in a mission to retrieve my trusty cell phone (fully digital, of course), I ran out to my brand new Volvo Cross-Country and started to pound the ice and snow off of it with my somewhat chilled hands. Eureka…one swift Bruce Lee blow to the roof and my very unused sunroof shattered all over the interior of the car. Now it was easy…instead of battling with frozen door locks, I just reached through the top of the car and grabbed the phone.
Hey, stop pitying me. I was wearing my L.L. Bean Camp Mocs and my feet were as warm as toast (even though the snack bar toast I buy most mornings is usually a disgustingly burnt and cold starch by-product encapsulated in a coagulated “something” masquerading as butter).
Now here’s a big shocker…when I turned on the cell phone and tried to return some calls, all I heard was an irritatingly rapid busy signal. Uh oh, “All circuits are busy.”
Sometimes you just have to sit back and smell the roses (or in this instance the smell of my patience doing a slow burn). Why not…I work hard in a very demanding pressure cooker. On this morning, I would kick back for awhile, grab a Pop Tart and watch the melodrama of the “winter wonderland” unfold as only my overly hysterical local television weather “person” could play the role. SHIT…the cable system is down and the F___ing Pop Tart is stale!
I can understand a television cable system not functioning (actually, I have no understanding of it, but I can accept it), but how the heck does a Pop Tart get stale? It’s full of more chemicals than my auto’s radiator and it’s “sealed” in one of those shiny spacesuit bags. Geez…no phones, no tube, no Pop Tart…what am I supposed to do…read a book?
Eventually I motivated and got out of the house. First things first. I drove to my auto dealership (sitting on what’s left of a sunroof mixed with a foot of ice and snow really defeats the concept of seat heaters). Of course there was no explanation for what happened to the sunroof and fixing it deprived me of my car for over a week (in their defense, I will say that the service people at the auto dealership are very nice...they didn’t try to blame me for the sunroof’s catastrophic event and fessed-up that it was caused by a bad install at the factory).
While at the dealership, I used their phone to call the local phone company and report my telecommunication’s problems.
The local phone company (more specifically their automated telephone repair computer voice) promised me that my phones would be working by, “6 P.M…Thursday.” Why not…the phones died on Tuesday morning. I love the opportunity to pay for telephone service from Tuesday to Thursday for an abyss of silence.
The really cool thing about automated systems is all of the options they provide (except giving you the option of speaking with a human). The option I like best is “Enter 2 to check the status of your service report.” From Tuesday afternoon through Thursday afternoon I repeatedly “Entered 2 to check the status of my service report” and repeatedly the automated system informed me that it was “Checking the line status.” Smelling a scam headed my way, I punched (note the violent terminology) enough numbers to eventually reach a human (maybe sub-human) customer service representative.
“We are sorry. It appears that due to the weather we will not have your problem repaired until 6 P.M. on Friday.” What happened to the promised Thursday repair date? When pushed on this subject, she simply hung-up on me. I guess I just got a free seminar on “the new” customer service.
Eventually my telephone, cell phone, cable TV and sunroof returned to their mediocre normality (actually, the sunroof is quite nice). The corporate culture at the local telephone company (government regulated monopoly) is the last bastion of Soviet-style, ass-backwards bureaucracy. It’s like a controlled “go to hell” payback treatment from a bunch of nobodies (maybe they are somebodies but they sure are dumb, rude and lazy) with politically correct titles…”Central Region Analog Communications Functionality Account Liaison PERSON”.
If you think what you have been reading is one of those warm and fuzzy human-interest articles, just go and immediately soak your head. This is a little primer for all of the minions who practice the fine art of “IEPFEEM” (I Expect Perfection From Everyone Except Me).
If the telephone customer service representative had her paycheck continually delayed because of a snowstorm she would surely claim irreparable damage before a state labor board. But, I am sure she was justified in hanging-up on me. It was “abusive” of me to question why I saw so many repair trucks parked at the diner while my phones sat in disrepair.
I can only imagine that the “technician” who incorrectly installed my auto’s sunroof was justified in doing so because of the trauma created by a “controlling” supervisor. Not to worry, I am certain the “technician” is anxiously awaiting the outcome of a $20 million lawsuit against Volvo and all of their suppliers for designing a stress-provoking sunroof.
As for the weather “person” who assured the world of the “worst blizzard in 100 years” (it ended up as a typical New England winter storm)…well, keep your eyes open for a $100 million lawsuit against the National Weather Service for the degradation of professional credibility. Don’t worry…Saturday Night Live will probably make all weather “people” more famous than Bush and Gore.
Who knows, you might be the next lucky winner. Perhaps you can find the one beetle packed in every 10 million cans of whole kernel sweet corn and win an easy $10 million for your pain and suffering.
I wonder if it would create a national panic if tort laws allowed physicians to sue their receptionists for ignoring patient calls while graphically describing the previous night’s sexual escape to a friend during a two hour personal phone call while at work?
Perhaps a little reality check might be delivered if customers could personally sue customer service representatives for being abusive or for just being jerks…”Do I really have to do my job? I thought I was getting paid to just sit on my fat ass.”
In a country where it has become fashionable to feel that accountability applies to everyone except oneself, it might be charitable to remember that we are only human. If you expect 100% performance, from 100% of others, 100% of the time; it might only be equitable that the same is expected from you. But, then again, it wasn’t my fault that I murdered for drug money…my parents were abusive.
Hey, I have to get going. I just pocketed a bunch of office supplies that I “needed” because I’m trying to sue Mozart for being more partial to melodic composition instead of rhythmic…dirty western European prejudicial bastard! Oh no, here comes my boss…have to fly because I’m supposed to be working…Bye.
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