||[Jul. 21st, 2008|05:14 pm]
Almost three hours of tech support hell with AT&T after installing the latest Microstiff updates. Turns out that Microscheiss installed an update that doesn't get along well with my Zone Alarm firewall. I lost my Internet connection last night and had to spend most of the afternoon with AT&T tech support to get it back. It's a good thing Mr. Bill is donating so much of his fortune to his vanity medical charity. Said charity should concentrate on helping victims of migraine, heart attacks, high blood pressure, aneurysms, and ulcers, as dealing with Windows has probably caused more people to suffer more of those things than has any other of the modern world's irredeemable evils. Thanks, Mr. Bill! Oh, and piss on you!|
And they made me listen to AT&T ads and Enya while I was on hold! (I must take a shower now.)
I got to talk to two Indian guys ("Ross" and "George") the first of whom was very difficult to understand. He switched me to another branch of AT&T due to a misunderstanding and the American guy I spoke to there was a speed talker whose name I never quite got. He, after figuring out that he couldn't solve the problem and then speed reading me several AT&T special offers (never miss a chance to advertise to a captive listener is the AT&T way), then switched me back to tech support where "George" was quite intelligible, but unable to solve the problem. Finally, I was switched to higher level tech support where an American woman named Michelle was finally able to reestablish my Internets connection, surprisingly quickly. Not only that, but she offered to help me configure my router which I'd never gotten around to installing, so we did that, which made up for the earlier two and a half hours plus of confusions.
I also got to listen to several recorded voices along the way, including one during several minutes mercifully free of either Enya or advertising, but this particular female voice had only one line: "Please Wait." Every few seconds she would say it again. At first it sounded like a polite request, but after multiple repetitions it began to sound like a scold. Dazed from a couple of hours of being the puck in a game of phone hockey, I suddenly got the feeling that I was about six years old and listening to a crotchety and condescending schoolteacher who didn't want to give me a bathroom pass. "Please wait. Please wait. Please Wait!" I probably got that impression because I was about to piss myself with rage by that point. But know what? I saved it for Mr. Bill!
Squashed between two immense corporations! It was almost as bad as the fire!