Tuesday, July 26, 2016

After a couple of months messing about with the interweb I finally called my provider. That proved to be a trying adventure into profanity, some raised voices and angst of minor blood pressure raises.

In short, given the poor souls that take these calls from some where hundred of miles from my ground zero site, the phone answers don’t know, them with their binders of time delaying instruction to crawl under the desk, un-plug everything for two minutes and then crawl back under and plug it all back in, they simply don’t understand even the most rudimentary spoken word from the customer. They don’t listen. They are time wasters – but necessary evils.

I’ll tell you a secret. When your modem lights aren’t on or all but the power light is off, the ISP has the problem, not you. All  that silly assed crawling about on the floor and aall the messing about in mouse turds and lint balls is the ISP’s way of making you pay for bothering them.

And all that cheerful explanation by those answers as to what they are doing for you by giving you a ticket number, which they then forward to the workorder desk, who will then forward it the scheduler, who will determine if you have a problem worthy of sending a maintenance man, well is hog wash. Everyone is working off the information you provide and when you explode and tell them you don’t need to know the ticket number, that is the internal business of the business and none of your concern, and do you really think John Q. really needs to know how you assign work jobs?

The upshot was I was receiving no interweb because I’m a spur off the main loop in the village and I have three filters on the hard line. They had to replace all three filters because of, to quote one of the responding Tech’s, gunk, rust and wate.r.

  Which is the same problem I go through every two years whether I like it or not. I did give them my apologies for using GD, and stupid SoB’s and various unkind words.

The Tech’s, they sent two both of whom spent two and a half hours climbing ladders repairing the the filters; the tech’s said they would put my apology in their maintenance activity report which they would then forward to the front office —

I stopped the tech’s and said I’d already been through explanation’s of their business internals. And for them to have a good evening – it being six thirty of the clock by the time they were finished.

I’ve known the tech that repaired the line for over twenty yearss.

He’s getting very over weight.

________

From the reaches,

Ten  Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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