Next Time, I’ll Start Locally

The last time a shopping experience made me scream with frustration was when I tried to find a parking spot at Stanford Shopping Center the day after Thanksgiving.

This time, I was on the phone, trying to get someone to install our new TV.

Keeper Husband and I have gone High Def. My Mom called last week to tell me that they got a new flat screen TV to replace their 15-year-old Zenith, and they were thrilled with the clarity. Well, there was no way I was going to let my parents out-tech me, so I promptly ordered a new 40-inch LCD TV and picked it up at our local big-box store.

We maneuvered the thing into the house and unboxed it. I felt very smug. I had done my research and had measured the armoire to make sure this model would fit. As Keeper held the flashlight, I studied the wiring of the old TV before we unplugged it. Then we removed the 300-pound behemoth and replaced it with out sleek new flat screen. I plugged in the cables and turned it on. The picture was clear, all right, but every channel was all snow, all the time.

“We need a techie,” said Keeper. I called a service we’ll call the Nerd Battalion. I was asked a bunch of questions by a disembodied recorded voice. I dutifully punched in my numeric answers, included my phone number (for identification, they said). After four minutes, I got a real Nerd. She asked for my phone number and address. I told her what I needed and she put me on hold. Another Nerd picked up and said, “How are you? Is your number 666-555-1234?”

“Uh, no,” I answered. We started over. Nerd #2 put me on hold. He came back and said he couldn’t find my order. “I can’t schedule your service until it comes up in the computer,” he said. “When did you buy your TV?”

After seven minutes of interrogation, I made him understand that I was not calling to schedule pre-paid service, but to BUY some service. He gave me another opportunity to listen to recorded music.

A third person came on the line. “Is your address 3657 Springdale Road?” she asked.

“No!” I shouted. “I haven’t moved! I just want someone to hook up my freaking TV!”

More waiting. Than, Nerd #4, this time a dispatcher. “How soon can someone come over?” I asked.

“I can’t tell you that until you order the service,” she said.

“Well, how do I know if I want to order it until I know when you can come?” I countered.

“I’m sorry, I can only take your credit card information, give you an order number, and transfer you to dispatch,” said the bored member of the Nerd Battalion.

I was wary. I asked, “If I can’t get timely service can I cancel?”

“Of course.”

I played along and gave her my credit card information, included those secret digits on the back. I was transferred to yet another person.

Nerd #5 told me the Battalion could come out the next day. I had appointments all day, so I asked for the next available time. They said it was Sunday, four days away.

“Not soon enough,” I said. “I’d like to cancel. Would you please credit my charge card?”

“I can’t,” he said.

“What?” I shouted. “I was told I could cancel if I couldn’t schedule a satisfactory appointment!”

“I can mark your account as ‘cancelled’ but I can’t give you a refund,” he said. “If you want a credit, you’ll have to go the store in person and ask at the Customer Service Desk.

And then I lost it. I slammed down the phone, screamed so loud my dog dived under the bed, and tore out a chunk of my own hair.

When I had calmed down, I called a Mom-and-Pop TV repair place on Laurel Street, which will forevermore by my FIRST choice. A real person named Paul picked up the phone.

“I need to have my TV hooked up to my cable box and Tivo. Do you do that?”

“Sure,” said my new best friend Paul. “I can be there at 1:30 this afternoon. Is that OK?”