The Boston Diaries

The ongoing saga of a programmer who doesn't live in Boston, nor does he even like Boston, but yet named his weblog/journal “The Boston Diaries.”

Go figure.

Wednesday, March 14, 2001

“Press one to be promptly ignored … ”

Ring.

Ring.

“Welcome to The Company!” said the computerized phone system at work. I'm at my neighbor's house (since I'm locked out of my condo) trying to call my roommate, as we both work for the same company. “If you happen to know your party's extention …” which I don't … “you may dial it at any time. If you need to check the corporate directory, please hit star.”

Beep.

“Please enter the first few letters of the first name of the person you are trying to reach.”

Beep. Boop. Beep. Bop. Boop.

Pause.

XXXXXXXXXXXX. Extention 5555.” Nope. Nowhere close to Rob.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX. Extension 5556.” 2nd shift guy, and again, nowhere close to Rob.

XXXXXXXXXXXX. Extention 5557.” Someone else I don't know. “To hear more names, press the pound key.”

Beep.

XXXXXXXXXXXX. Extention 5558.” Pause. “Thank you for calling The Company. If you happen to know—” What was my cow-orker's number? He should be there by now …

Beep. Boop. Bop. Beep.

Long pause.

Ring.

Ring.

“Thank you for calling The Company. Have a nice day.”

Click.

Grrrrrr.

Ring.

Ring.

“Welcome to The Company! If you happen to know your party's extention …” which I don't … “you may dial it at any time. If you need to check the corporate directory, please hit star.”

Beep.

“Please enter the first few letters of the first name of the person you are trying to reach.”

Beep. Boop. Beep. Bop. Boop. This time another cow-orker.

“There is no one by that name in our directory. Please hit star to input another name.

Beep.

“Please enter the first few letters of the first name of the person you are trying to reach.”

Beep. Boop. Beep. Bop. Boop. Yet another cow-orker.

“There is no one by that name in our directory. Please hit star to input another name.” I try my boss. “There is no one—” I try yet another cow-orker. “There is no—” I try Rob again. “XXXXXXXXXXXX. Extention 5555.” I hang up.

Let me try something else.

Ring.

Ring.

“Welcome to The Company's Automated Phone System! To talk to a sales represenative, press one. To talk to billing, press two. For technical assistance, press three—”

Beep.

“Welcome to Technical Support. For dial-up, call 1-800-XXX-XXXX. For DSL support, call 1-888-XXX-XXXX. For DNS support, call 1-800-XXX-XXXX.” So far, three different 800 numbers. “For web hosting support, call 1-800-XXX-XXXX.”

Click.

Ring.

Ring.

“Welcome to The Company's Web Hosting Support. For sales assistance, press one.” Sigh. “For billing assistance, press two. For DNS issues, press three.” Yea, yea. Where's the most common option you morons? “For technical support, press four–”

Beep.

Pause.

Musak. Tony Bennet singing NIN's “Head Like a Hole.”

“Technical support! May I please have your domain name?”

Finally! “Um, I'm trying to reach Rob Summers. This is his roommate and I urgently need to talk to him.”

“Do you know his extention?”

“If I knew that, I'd call him directly.”

“Ah. Okay, hold on … ”

Musak. Pat Boone covering AC/DC's “Hiway to Hell.”

“I can't find his extention, but I have his cell phone. Is that okay?”

No. I want his extention. “Yes.” I write it down, hang up and finally call Rob.

Good lord.

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