The Airing of Grievances Against Comcast.

I was in the middle of writing a great post about my fledgling relationship with smoothies whilst waiting on hold for some form of life at Comcast to assist me with lowering my dang bill that is equivalent to what ER's college tuition will be.  But now my post is going to be yet again, an airing of grievances.  I'm not a negative person, I just know that all of you, my faithful readers, are dedicated to my overcoming of this PLIGHT.

Photo courtesy of turntherightcorner.tumblr.com

I dropped ER off at preschool, came home, made a smoothie (more about that later...), and got on the horn with Comcast.  The first thing I did was look online to see if I could do a live chat with an associate.  I will ALWAYS choose a live chat over an actual phone call.  It's much better to type with someone through a computer than to talk to them on the telephone.  You can imagine how that turned out.

I filled out the dang form with my name, my phone number, yadda yadda yadda, and the "reason" for my chat and it would NOT go to the next page.  It kept telling me part of my form was incomplete and I needed to fill out everything with the little red asterisk.  My frustration level was already rising at that point.

Soooooo, then I gave in and dialed the number and do you believe while I was waiting to get connected, jumping through the hoops of pressing 1 for English and 2 for Espanol, some recorded lady came on and ASKED ME IF I WANTED TO BUY A PAY-PER-VIEW WRESTLING MATCH IN THE MIDDLE OF ME TRYING TO CALL TO HAVE MY BILL LOWERED.  WTF?  Granted, this pawn techno woman didn't know the reason for my call, but I thought that was a bit tacky, don't you?  Of course you do.

Then my call got answered.  I very directly told the lady that I was calling to see what they could do for me in terms of having my monthly bill lowered.  Go through the whole thing...give her my phone number...my address...she asks me with whom she has the pleasure of speaking today (I should have said "YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE, BITCH"), and I told her I was the wife of the account holder, blah blah blah.

Well, guess what?  Hold on to your butts, Samuel L. Jackson-style.

I can't do ANYTHING with the account because my name isn't on the account.  That's right.  It's just Dada's name, not mine.  So, I can't get a-n-y information about the account, I can't ask to have it lowered, nothing.  Dada has to call to get my name put on the account.  Really?  That's the whole reason I resigned from teaching, so that Dada could keep teaching and I could stay at home all day and make the frigging phone calls.  

The lady says, "Is there a number that I can call to speak with him at work?"

I says, "No, he is a teacher and is not readily available for a phone call during the day.  That's why I'm calling.  Because I am home alll day."

Then, she's "sorry" she can't help, and all that jaun.  WTF?

Whatever.  I need to leave to get my eyebrows waxed.  I'll be back later to tell you about my jackwagon smoothies.