The Circles of Verizon Hell
Several folks told us we had antiquated internet and streaming services; that Cambridge is no longer a Comcast-captive town; we should upgrade our package and pay less for more options. We made a spreadsheet of our respective costs, my housemate discussed what we wanted with a salesman in advance, and made an appointment at the Verizon store.
I showed up for our 3 p.m. appointment on time. A cheerful guy came up and said he’d be right with me, then went back to another customer. Dante’s first circle of hell is limbo, where I loitered as it became clear that the staff wait on people as they arrive. So why bother making appointments? More than fifteen minutes later, the salesperson attended to us. My doctor’s office is more punctual.
We had a list of the services we wanted. Combine our two phone lines to one account, add internet, MAX, Netflix and You Tube TV. The salesperson began with, “Let’s switch your accounts.” We paused. “First, we want a list of what this is going to cost.” “Oh, I can’t do that. You Tube TV is a separate platform and requires perk service.” “Do I buy it through Verizon?” “Yes, but I can’t give you that in an accounting.” “Why not?” “Because it’s a separate platform.” “So, can you give us the total cost, with the platform?” “No.”
This triggered the I-hate-to-shopper in me. I skipped right over the most enjoyable circles of hell: lust, gluttony, and greed, and dove straight into anger. “Don’t yell at me,” the salesperson said. “What do you want me to do? I ask for a monthly total of what this is going to cost and you tell me you can’t give it to me.” “I can give it to you, just not in a printout. I will have to add the YouTube TV by hand.” “Whatever.”
The salesperson jabbed his at tablet. This is one of those stores designed to be spare and uncomfortable. No real counters, no cash registers, just a quad of guys in black wandering with tablets. The lack of pen and paper make my nervous. Nothing feels solid.
“I’m having technical difficulties.” He kept poking. Finally, he disappeared and reappeared with a single piece of paper. The strangest price list I’d ever seen. The cost of Internet, with a discount applied. Blank space. The cost of my phone. An icon. The cost of my housemate’s phone. Turn over the second side. The cost of Max and Netflix. A credit for Loyalty 55+. A Bold cost of the next bill (including various start-up charges). Bold monthly cost.
Then the salesperson stated pointing at the sheet. “Ignore this $5. This $10 is for the YouTube Platform, then we subtract $15 from that. Add five dollars per month to the bold cost, and the $72.99 for YouTube TV service.
“Do you mind if I write on this?” “By all means, it’s yours.” I tried, unsuccessfully, to make notes of what he had said. Then I realized, all the line items were in my housemate’s name. We’d requested the service in my name. “We can’t do that because you have a metered service.” “Can I switch to an unlimited service?” Back and forth we went until, another bizarre price sheet later indicated that the same set of services in my name would cost $37 per month more than in my housemate’s name.
At this point I have descended beyond anger. Every word and printed figure illustrated circle six, heresy. Thus I arrived at the seventh circle of hell: violence. Fortunately for the salesguy, though I am a master of anger, I’m milquetoast at violence. Never hit a person in my life and besides, this guy’s just a pawn in corporately concocted confusion. We are not supposed to understand our internet bills, by design.
To save the mysterious $37, we agreed to put everything in my housemate’s name. I envisioned the hell that will ensue should he ever move, but the near-term result was good for me: after a few more password exchanges, I was free to go.
Since you’re always just one bike ride away from a good mood, I took a nice pedal along the river to cool my jets and rise out of Verizon hell. When I got home an hour later, I was surprised my housemate wasn’t there. Until I got a call from him. Still at Verizon where they needed me for another round of password exchanges. To what end I do not know.
Finally, after two and half hours in the store, my housemate returned, apparently all settled. We had a drink and shared our frustration until we could laugh about it.
The next day my housemate got a call from the salesguy. The discounts on his quote were wrong; our service will cost more than he described. I expressed no surprise. After all, the eighth circle of hell is: fraud.
