The Misery of Hell, or is it Only Comcast Again
by Bella Rum
We came home from the new house on Thursday night to find that the DVR was screwy. What a mess. Comcast had disconnected our service and connected the new buyers service prematurely. That’s the short version. The DVR no longer had our recorded shows.
We knew from experience that a call to Comcast would take up an hour of our lives that we didn’t have to give at the moment. Last night, we finally decided to tackle it. H, who I’m certain is a direct descendant of Job, took the first round. I would like nothing better than to give you a blow-by-blow description, but you probably have other things to do this year. Suffice it to say that he was on the phone for over an hour with a man from India who was unfailingly polite and understandable, but could not fix the problem. He handed us off to a person in billing who was American and not as polite and eventually disconnected H, but did nothing to fix the problem.
H was ready to blow up the phone by then, so I tried. I got another guy from India who was also unfailingly polite, but I could only understand every third word he spoke. I had to reinvent the wheel and explain the whole situation again. I tried to tell him that he would not be able to fix it, but would have to connect me to someone who could, but he insisted that he would try. I went through the entire process again before he handed me off to an American who was both understandable and polite. I reinvented the wheel one more time. She understood, but would have to do some mysterious things that required her to disconnect us, but not to worry, she would call us back in fifteen minutes, and all would be resolved.
By this time we were curled up in the corner in a fetal position, muttering nonsense and licking our wounds. We went to bed, never hearing from Comcast again. Beaten into submission, we’ve decided to let it be. Sometimes acceptance is the only way.