Home is Where I Know My Address April 11, 2007
I was out of town the past few days, visiting a place in central California where Husband and I want to build a house and move. It’s really pretty, tons of trees, very removed–so removed, in fact, that my cell phone has no coverage. I have to drive my car a half hour away before I start getting spotty cell phone coverage. Which is why I have a landline. It costs me $25/month to have the phone there, and we don’t even go there every month, but I feel it’s worth it in the event of an emergency (my main emergency concern involving rattle snake bites).
We arrived late Sunday night to discover the phone didn’t work. When we drove into town the next morning, I took out my cell phone and called the phone company.
Because I am not the poster child for “Having Smarts” or “Being Prepared” I did not – I repeat, NOT – bring with me the phone number to the house or the address, neither of which I have memorized. Through this phone call, I learned what I now refer to as
The Eight Stages of Annoying The AT&T Phone Operator:
Stage One: She’s pleasant.
Me: Hi I need to schedule a repair because my phone isn’t working.
Her: Okay! No problem! What’s your phone number?
Stage Two: She’s used to people not always being prepared
Me: I’m sorry, I don’t know the phone number. Is there any way you can look it up?
Her: Of course. Can you tell me what state you live in?
Stage Three: She thinks I’m a smartass.
Me: I live in California.
Her: Northern or southern?
Me: I don’t really know how AT&T maps it out, because it’s technically central California.
Stage Four: She thinks I’m a dumbass.
Her: (sighing) Okay, why don’t you give me your address?
Me: I was afraid you were going to ask me that. I’m really sorry, but I don’t know that either.
Stage Five: She doesn’t know WHAT to think.
Her: Is this YOUR phone account or someone else’s?
Me: (all in one breath) Well, it’s mine, but I don’t normally live at this place, it’s more of a vacation place and the phone wasn’t working and there isn’t cell phone service so I had to drive away in order to call you and it didn’t occur to me that I didn’t have any of that information until I actually called you. Is it possible to look up my phone number by my social security number or by the city?
Stage Six: She only knows that she hates me.
Her: No.
At this point, like manna from heaven, I discovered on the floor of the car the architectural plans for the house we want to build that Husband fortuitously brought along.
Me: Oh! Oh, wait! I just found the address! It’s on the floor of my car!
She looks up the information, we discuss the phone problem, she makes an appointment for a serviceman to come out, and then asks me the standard questions they ask when scheduling a repair.
Stage Seven: She repeats inside inside her mind, ‘Find a Happy Place, Find a Happy Place’
Her: Do you rent or own at this location?
Me: Sorry, what?
Her: Do you rent or own at this location?
Me: (a little nervous now) I’m sorry, one more time?
Her: DO YOU RENT OR OWN AT THIS LOCATION?
Me: (scared now) Um… ‘dislocation’ what?
Silence. (Find a happy place, find a happy place…)
Her: DO. YOU. RENT. OR OWN. AT. THIS (pronounced very severely) LOCATION??????
Me: Oh! We own. Sorry about that.
Stage Eight: Good bye and good riddance.
Me: Thanks so much for your patience and your help. I really appreciate it. I’m really sorry I didn’t have any of that information for you.
Her: No problem. Have a nice day.
To all the phone operators of the world, I apologize. In the words of Michael Keaton as Dogberry in Much Ado About Nothing:
Remember, I am an ass.
It’s always a blast talking to the phone company or the electric company here in NY. You made it out alive, and it sounds like she did too.
Happy day!
Hilarious! Thanks for making me laugh.
You would’ve been an ass if you got indignant about her inability to help you. Which is what I would have done.
Whenever I’m dealing with official type people on the phone, I always get told “Don’t be aggresive with me, ma’am” because I have this loud, strident voice, and I’m always THIS IS JUST MY LOUD STRIDENT VOICE, but do they ever believe me? Nooooo.
Your story was funny. Very funny. I was smiling all the way through it.
Then I got to the Dogberry picture.
And I laughed. Laughed like Julia Roberts does in a montage scene in one of her standard-issue romantic comedies.
A most unlady like laugh.
I have now dribbled wine down my chin and on to my lap. Red Wine. Expensive Red Wine. On to expensive pants. And I don’t care - because your story was so funny: I am happy to waste liquor. And my clothes.
This must be love.
you know she told her colleagues about you when she went on her smoking break.
I am in stitches.
Michael Keaton’s quote clinched it.
The worst is when you know you’re the unreasonable one. Not that you were unreasonable, just unprepared. Which is a close kin to unreasonable, but definitely not the same. (one being intentional/irrational, the other being omissive)
So now I’m just rambling…
HA HA HA HA!!!! You were definitely the talk of the breakroom today! If she had a mute button you know she was hitting it and talking to her co-workers about this idiot on the phone. That is what I used to do anyway