In part because of some nice little toys we got each other for Christmas, and in part because some of our computers and other electronic gear needed to be upgraded, my wife and I have spent much of the last month calling tech support.
I hate tech support. Neither my wife or I are exactly stupid but it shouldn't take a rocket scientist to get some of this stuff working right.
There are several things that annoy me about having to make these calls, besides having to make them in the first place.
First, is having to go through the lengthy computer-voice menus to get where you think you need to be. "If you're calling about our product totally crashing every time you turn it on and shifting the orbit of Saturn at the same time, please press 251...."
Second, is the awful elevator music I have to listen to after the computer has told me my estimated wait time to speak to a human being is going to be 30 minutes. And I don't know how they estimate that since they're always wrong by at least a factor of two (who provides tech support for tech support?).
Finally, I get a human being. Of course, it would be nice if they spoke English. Is there any call center in this country that doesn't send you to India? I swear, the entire population of that country must be sitting at telephone switchboards.
So now I'm listening to a guy in an accent I can barely understand try and explain to me -- using terms I don't understand (that's why I'm calling!) -- how to get my machine working.
The other day, trying to get some new software running on my wife's computer I was being palmed off from one person to another as new problems popped up. Finally, and I'm sure this was a mistake, I got sent to a human being in the United States!
Unfortunately, she was in Brooklyn, with a Brooklyn accent so thick you could cut it with a knife. It would have been easier to understand if she spoke Swahili. After about ten minutes I started praying I'd get sent back to someone with an Indian accent.
It ought to be illegal to have a call center in India -- or Brooklyn.
Next time I have to send a part back and explain on the return form why I'm doing so, I'm going to write the answer in Sanskrit. Then when they call to find out what it said, I'm going to make them listen to an hour of Black Sabbath first -- before talking to my two-year-old grandson (who's just learning to put complete sentences together -- although he does seem to know more about computers than I do).
Revenge will be sweet.