This morning, I readied myself. I put on my brightest Christmas sweater, I practiced my cheeriest disposition in the mirror and I stretched the muscles in my face so that I could deliver my warmest smile on a moment’s notice. Yes, I had participated in painstaking preparations, and now I was prepared to face the toughest challenge that exists in the world today: The women behind the front desk at the cable TV office.
This was the situation. I had signed up for one of the cable company’s promotions where I got internet, TV and phone service for a low introductory price. As an extra nice gesture, the cable salesperson also tossed in two DVRs. The one in my bedroom never really worked. I did not care while it was free, but when the six-month promotion was over, I decided to trade in the broken DVR for a regular HD box and save myself a few pennies on my bill. Normally, when I go to the cable TV company, I take my husband with me for moral support. I admit that I am scared of these women. I would rather get a colonoscopy than deal with these women. I don’t know why the cable company puts them in the front to deal with people. I truly believe they want to scare people away.
But alas, today I was on my own, so I decided to fight fire with honey. I decided that I was going to be the sweetest person that they ever did see. No arguments were going to emanate from my mouth. I was going to be their most cooperative customer of the year – or at least the day.
I stepped into the cable office with broken DVR in hand and I was amazed that there was no line in front of the bullet proof windows. Yes, the bullet proof windows. I am in the middle of suburbia. I go to banks, the post office, credit unions and fast food restaurants where there is always a lot of cash on hand, and do they have bullet proof windows? NO. But the cable office does. What does that say when the cable company needs bullet proof partitions?
Anyway, I was so amazed and focused on the fact that there was no line that I missed the sign at the entrance which said, “PRESS A BUTTON TO TELL US WHY YOU ARE HERE.”
With a spring in my step, I went up to one of the windows and started to talk to the woman wearing the microphone headset behind the partition. BIG MISTAKE. Immediately she waved me away and shouted at me through her microphone to step behind the console and press the button. She looked mad too. Rats, this mistake would cost me. I had already ruffled her feathers! I began to get that sick feeling in my stomach. But I persevered. I retreated to the console and pressed the TV button to tell her I needed help with my cable. I heard a buzz and then the woman ordered me, again through the microphone, to step up to the glass. She also instructed me to open the glass door on the side of her partition, slide in my DVR equipment and shut the door behind it. When I had completed her instructions, she then opened another door on her side and removed my cable equipment and shut and locked the door on her side. I guess these are all precautions every cable person needs to take, but I’m thinking Homeland Security could learn a thing or two from these people. I never realized how dangerous being a cable office person could be. Here, I thought it was only the technicians who messed with the electricity and wires who took risks.
Then she asked the fateful question: “Why are you here?”
I did not mince words or make my answer too elaborate. “This DVR box does not work as a DVR and my promotion is up and I wanted to trade it in for an HD box instead,” The words flowed so effortlessly that I started to get my confidence back about this whole encounter. Then, she did something I will always remember. She turned the DVR box over and glared at me.
“You don’t have a DVR box here. The reason it didn’t work is because it is not a DVR box. All you have is an HD box. You wasted your time and mine.”
Uh oh. Foiled by my own stupidity. She was getting ready to yell now. I could feel it. She grabbed a DVR box from behind the counter and shoved it close to the partition. Then with her fingers, she showed me the letters DVR and then promptly asked me where on my box did I see those letters.
“Nowhere. My mistake,” I said apologetically.
“You bet it is your mistake. You people come in here without knowing what you got at home.”
“Again, I am sorry. It was entirely my fault,” I said again while smiling.
I have to say that this woman seemed a little more compassionate than the other women I’ve encountered in this office – all of whom I’m pretty sure moonlight as maximum security prison guards, but what do I know?
Just to drive her final humiliating point home, she decided to look up my bill and informed me that my account file never said I had two DVRs. I was not in fact paying any extra for a second DVR box. She instructed me to go home and check all my other boxes to make sure I didn’t put another DVR box in another room and forgot about it.
I wanted to argue back to say I wouldn’t forget a thing like that, but she was absolutely in control here, and I did not want to rock the boat. I am always afraid that if you tick off these women too much, they might add stuff to your account that you can never get off. It’s just a cable phobia I have.
Then, she told me to step away from the partition while she opened her door and pushed my non-DVR box back to me in the side compartment. When she locked her side, I removed my box and waited for permission to leave. When she said I was done, I thought I would try one more time to bring cheer to the cable office.
With the most positive tone I could muster I said, “Thank you so much for your help and information. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas.”
I caught her off guard, and I could see the thaw occur right in front of my eyes. She looked at me with a shocked smile on her face. Yep, I got a smile from a cable lady.
Then, she said, “You too and God bless.”
I got a “God Bless”. I have to say that I left that cable office feeling pretty satisfied with myself. I had worn down one of the toughest people known to mankind. Sure, she thinks I am a stupid toad because I thought I had a broken DVR box for six months when in reality I never even had a DVR box. But so what? She smiled at me.
As I was leaving the building, a man was coming in and he said. “How are they today?” And I said, “I got a smile.” He stopped and actually congratulated me. For a brief moment, I was a hero.
Donna Cavanagh
MyVeryOwnFan.com