6:35 p.m.
The other day I called a particular company to cancel a continuing service for my father. The conversation went like this:
Me: My father has passed away. I'd like to cancel this account, since he will no longer require this service.
Them: You wish to cancel?
Me: Yes
Them: The account holder must call to personally cancel this account.
Me: Excuse me? Did you just say my father has to call you himself?
Them: Yes, ma'am.
Me: May I speak with a real person, please?
Them: I am real, ma'am.
Me: No, I would like to speak with a living, breathing person with a heart, please.
Them: Ma'am, I am a living person.
Me: Really? What did I just say to you?
Then: You wish to cancel this account.
Me: Because?
Them: I'm sorry?
Me: You certainly are. Why did I tell you I wanted to cancel?
Them: I don't--I didn't--that is, I don't understand.
Me: The reason I wish to cancel my father's account is because my father is no longer alive.
Them: Oh! Well, I am so sorry to hear that. Of course, we can cancel that right now. Do you have the secret password?
Me: Password?
Them: Yes, your father has a password to access the account. Can you get that, please?
Me: And how would you suggest I do that? Hold a séance?
Them: I'm sorry?
Me: We've established that, I believe.
Them: What?
Me: I don't have the secret password. It's not like I can call into the next room and ask him. He's not here anymore. Surely there is another way to access the record and get this accomplished. I have the account number right here...
Them: Do you have his social security number?
Me: Yes. Yes, I do. And may I suggest you start with that the next time a deceased person's family member calls to do business with you?
Them: Start with.. what?
So...holy crap, what is wrong with people?
I would like to say that this was an isolated incident, but sadly, it was not. I have had several of these conversations. All these people hear is the word "cancel", and then all their bells and whistles go off--how can we keep this person's business and continue to take his money?
While we're at it--
Dear Telemarketers:
Please stop calling to speak to my father about his insurance. His auto insurance isn't about to expire. He doesn't need an extended warranty on a vehicle that is now so old it's considered a classic. It's sitting in the driveway, and he's not going to be driving it again. He isn't on Medicaid. He doesn't need to review his Medicare plan.
It's the Medicare calls that really get me, you know? They paid his final expenses, including that funeral benefit that isn't enough for anyone to so much as pay for coffee at a wake. They know he passed away, damn it.
My father no longer lives on this level of existence. He has moved on to a higher realm, on where he will never have to worry about any of this again. He is pain free, illness free and if he gets to drive, I am sure he doesn't have to think about insurance plans or the cost of gasoline. He exists on a level high above those petty concerns.
Telemarketers, on the other hand, exist on a certain low level of hell. And before you get upset that I said that, ask anyone who spends their days being shouted at, cursed out and hung up on if they disagree with me that they're in a living hell. I don't think they will. Sounds like hell to me.
I suppose being in hell makes them cranky, and that leads them to their perverse desire to call me daily on a variety of different numbers to remind me that the warranty on my car is about to expire--this, although I haven't owned a car since about 2004.
Yeah, I know. I'm being bitchy again.
Meh.
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7:23 p.m.
Here's some better news. I got the Christmas decorations up. For me, this is a big deal, since I usually wait until it's nearly too late to bother.
Even better, most of my shopping is accomplished. Mailing... well, it's only the 3rd, so I have hope.
22 days 'til Christmas, folks! Better get a move on!
