All I Wanted was Cat Jokes - Dealing with my ISP

About three weeks ago my neighbors suddenly chose to password protect their wi-fi, effectively ending my internet service. I have no idea what triggered this affront, but suspect they were threatened with legal action due to my rampant copyright infringement over their ISP. Maybe they even received a list of pirated materials. That would be embarrassing, because why would anyone (specifically me) even WATCH the film Battleship, let alone go out of their way to download it illegally?

In any case, having been unfairly inconvenienced through the tyranny of password protection, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I contacted CenturyLink: a company primarily dedicated to the acquisition of stadium naming rights that also happens to be fairly active in the field of telephone and internet service provision. They sent me a modem via UPS, and told me I’d be able to set up my equipment and get online by Thursday.

So I was pretty excited. I couldn’t wait to lose myself in a world of cat pictures and hardcore pornography. It promised such vast improvements over my stolen internet, which only worked in one small area of my apartment, and necessitated that I move a table into the corner then build a tower of pillows on top of it on which to set my lap top. Those days were behind me. No longer would I be forced to tell unexpected guests that I moved the pillows onto the table while vacuuming the couch – which I have never done. Ever.

On the big day I came home from a brief constitutional to find a cardboard box on my front stoop. I squealed with delight, then ran into the house to unpack and install my new modem, which turned out to be an amazingly straightforward process. I thought. Until the little green light that looks like a picture of the earth taken from the moon, and which I suppose is meant to signify a world of connectivity, started blinking red. It looked less like a passport to information and more like a warning light on an intercontinental ballistic missile detection system. And it meant that my cat pictures (and pornography) would have to wait. So I called tech support.

The next hour is less a memory and more a nightmarish hell-scape of terrible hold music and endless repetition of the same strings of account and order numbers, mumbled numb-lipped to one heavily accented tech assistant after another. Eventually I got disconnected. And I couldn’t call back because I was already late for a meeting. I knew I would have to try again the next day, and briefly considered taking my own life.

My sole solace is that most people seem to have terrible experiences with CenturyLink customer service. So at least it’s not like they singled me out due to my string of nefarious internet thefts. In fact, the website customerservicescoreboard.com gives CenturyLink a dismal score of 27 out of a possible 200. And I believe them. I feel the site is trustworthy because its banner sports a picture of what appears to be a myopic owl wearing a referee’s uniform. And if Winnie the Pooh taught me anything, it’s that owls can be trusted. Unlike CenturyLink, which probably recruits all its customer service representatives from that pit prison from The Dark Knight.

Here’s a brief sampling of some actual comments from the site:

“This is the worst company I have ever dealt with.” -Angry_as_Hell

“They are disgusting.” -E.pegasus

“This company provides terrible service.” -Very Unhappy

Out of 926 comments on the website pertaining to CenturyLink, only 37 are positive, and most of those are riddled with spelling errors.

When I called tech support back the next afternoon I was surprised to find that none of the previous day’s misadventures had been cataloged. The rep didn’t know I had called before, or that I’d had problems. At first he couldn’t even find my account. I spent over an hour on the phone – him telling me how to configure the modem and me going through the steps as he described them. It was nauseating, and in the end accomplished nothing.

“That’s very strange,” he kept saying. “I’ve never heard of the light blinking red before.” At first I payed this comment no mind, but in retrospect it makes little sense. The device contains a red light. They’ve wired it that way. Someone installed that light on purpose. If it’s for no reason, why put it in? If it signals something very specific, then shouldn’t it be easy to identify the problem? And if it signals something general, then how can it be that this man, who works for the company that manufactured the device, is apparently completely unaware of it’s existence? Is this his first day? Am I his very first customer? And if so, shouldn’t he be required to disclose that?

“Excuse me sir,” he might say, “you’re my first customer and you should know that this is going to take a long time and resolve nothing. Because I’m just terrible at this. I’d never even seen a computer until two days ago.” At least then I’d know where I stood. I’d be able to act accordingly, by drinking and swearing.

But no. I was left in the dark, forced to follow along at home as this technophobe better suited to Lite-Brite worked through a host of commands designed to keep me laboring under the delusion of his expertise. Eventually he gave up and told me they were going to try to fix the problem on their end, and I should try hooking it up again in two days.

“And if it still doesn’t work, call back.”

He actually said that to me. Heartless bastard.

To be fair, not every source gives CenturyLink quite so vicious of a panning. The website dslreports.com contains 556 individual reviews of the company, of which a mere 239 are bad. Interestingly, according to the site’s counter, only 177 are good. That leaves 140 reviews that are neither good nor bad. I wasn’t able to locate any of these odes to neutrality, so I have taken the liberty of recreating one here.

CenturyLink! It Exists!

Century link is a company that is real. It provides services in exchange for currency. It also sometimes names buildings after itself. Rumors that it recruits all it’s customer service reps from that pit prison from The Dark Knight remain unconfirmed.

Neutral reviews aren’t helpful.

When I again called tech support, following the apparent failure of their “we’ll fix it on our end strategy,” I was in no mood for shenanigans.

“Just send a tech,” I pleaded. “For the love of all that is good and holy, just send an actual person.”

“OK,” said the rep, “but first let’s configure your modem.”

“I did that on Friday,” I moaned. I was trying not to be rude, because I imagine tech support is a fairly thankless job, but I was failing. “We did that! We did it on Friday! It took an hour! SEND SOMEONE!”

“OK,” said the rep. “We’ll send someone on Thursday. Between noon and five.” I hate you, I thought. I hate you so very, very much.

The tech arrived at 4:45. He was actually a really nice, helpful guy. He replaced my phone jack and my modem before concluding that the problem lay somewhere within their mainframe, miles from my apartment. And there was no one around to fix it because it was after five.

“Try it again in the morning,” he told me. “It should work.”

And it did! But only if the computer is actually plugged into the modem. The wi-fi does not function. So I guess I have a few more calls to make.