By Todd Ransom
Like most of the people out there, I’m a busy guy. I have a full-time job, am trying to get a book published and do publicity for my friends in the entertainment business on the side. That’s why I love convenience. Anything a company can do to make my life easier wins over my heart, my loyalty and my cash.
That said, might I suggest a name change for Time Warner to Time Waster? I don’t know what the rest of you have had for experiences with this company but I have got to tell you that after dealing with them over the past several weeks I have had to up my dosage on Xanax, Prozac and red wine.
I think cable TV is a great invention. I’m a totally movie freak and use my remote as a search light to find any film that I haven’t seen before and cable allows that luxury. However, I took the bait to add broadband as a way to “bundle” services.
Don’t laugh. I currently have been using dial up. I realize no one else does, but I was just lazy and didn’t want to have to change my e-mail addresses. Well, I’m also an impatient person so I needed to dump the dial up and since I was with Time Warner I wanted to take advantage of one of their offers.
I went online so I didn’t have to speak with someone reading from a script. I know from experience that when you call a customer service rep at Time Warner they have two answers to any cable problem:
1) Take you cable box to a local cable store
2) We’ll send a technician
I don’t like either of those options, so I ordered a modem online that had a mail-in rebate of $89. It sounded like a pretty good deal. I got an e-mail letting me know when it had been shipped to my home address complete with tracking number plus a reminder to call Time Warner to schedule a time for installation. A Time Warner phone number was also provided.
Okay, now it gets weird. I get home on a Friday night, dragging my tired ass up the stairs instead of using the elevator (trying to burn a few calories) and when I get to my door I find a plastic bag with its top tied in a knot sitting on the floor outside my door. Because I know the Unabomber is not at large, I decided to open it. Inside was a modem with no paperwork, no tracking number, no indication it belonged to me and later I find out no serial number.
I called Time Warner and get the rep on the phone with the script. She agrees it’s weird they would deliver it that way so she tells me to take it to a Time Warner store. I get in my car and drive to the Hollywood location on Cahuenga and have to admit the people working there are nice enough, but they had absolutely no idea what I was doing with that modem, claimed to never have seen it before and tried to tell me I should be renting one from them instead. Well, I had no intention of renting one after I already bought one from the same damn company. Dejected and frustrated, I return to my home and call Time Warner on the phone and schedule a time for a technician to come out and install the damn thing. We agree on Sunday between 8 a.m. and 10 a.m. (this works because it is the time of day I usually am doing laundry so I’m stuck at home anyway).
Saturday morning, I am drinking my coffee and chatting with my mom on the phone when my cell phone starts ringing. I don’t answer it because anyone who has a mother knows you don’t interrupt their phone call for anything short of an earthquake or other natural disaster (except the American Idol results show). The cell phone rings again and then a third time. I finally answer it and it’s the cable technician who says he’s lost.
“I’ll say,” I said sarcastically. “You’re not supposed to be here until tomorrow.” He offers no apology and says he was told Saturday. He said I could call customer service, which I did. They told me they had no openings on Sunday. I said that’s fine, but I don’t moonlight for the Psychic Hotline so in the future, when you change the appointment why don’t you call me. I know it’s a novel idea, but some would call it good customer service.
I explained to the rep that I was expected in Palm Springs early Saturday evening so I could see my fabulous friend, Amanda Abel, sing. The rep assured me that the appointment wouldn’t take very long and I wouldn’t have any problems getting out to the desert on time. I reluctantly agree to let them come over on Saturday but I did let the rep know that I was not very encouraged with the fact that the technician couldn’t find my building which stands on Fountain near La Brea in Hollywood. People may get lost in L.A., but most everyone knows the corner where Shia LaBeouf got T-boned in his truck. I would expect a technician to find an easy intersection such as mine but alas, I have high expectations.
The technician arrives with a second technician in tow…enter Dumb and Dumber. I know for a fact that neither could identify themselves without first checking to see what was written just above their left breast pocket on their blue Time Warner shirt.
I tried to explain the mail-in rebate program and the modem but didn’t get very far. They both looked curiously at the modem as if they were two cavemen trying to figure the flames of fire for the first time. Even when they did respond, it was with a blank stare and a monotone voice leaving me to ask myself, “What is this? An audition for a Sleep Number Bed commercial?”
One of them frequently disappeared. The only thing he said to me was that he liked my original artwork, especially the female nudes. My guess is that while he was missing he had run down to the newsstand on La Brea to sneak a peek at the latest Playboy while the other one was left here scratching his rather empty head.
The first technician finally asked me where the cable box was for my building. I no more know where the damn cable box is in my apartment building than I know where the war room is in the Pentagon for the simple reason that I don’t need to…I leave that up to the experts. He looked at me like the homeless guy on the corner who doesn’t believe I don’t have any spare change when I say I don’t. In fact, he insisted on looking in my closet while I told him it was unlikely that the cable box for 36 units was located in my walk-in closet. I was convinced at this point that these guys couldn’t find their own butts with both hands and a pack of bloodhounds.
I eventually go downstairs to the bowels of my building to find the cable box and using the Annie Sullivan technique for Helen Keller using my fingers on his hand spelling out b-o-x h-e-r-e. He began tearing into the many wires like a hungry Midwesterner who has just arrived at an all you can eat buffet at the “Fried and Battered Café.” I knew he had no concept of what he was doing.
Eventually, we come back up to the apartment to try again. He tells me that my computer isn’t set up for broadband…only dial up. I reminded him that it is easy to install a driver and that it had been done before where I used to live but he stuck to his story and said I could call a supervisor, who would tell me the same thing. Now that really pisses me off when someone says that. I reminded him that he had taken three hours out of my day, time I will never get back, just like those times I actually watched a Jennifer Lopez movie, so I would appreciate it if he left now so I can try to get to the desert on time.
Needless to say, I still don’t have broadband and I have a useless modem sitting in a plastic bag that looks like it came from a Chinese restaurant.
Stay tuned for further developments, but please do so on Direct TV!
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