Modern woes

“Excuse me,” I interrupt the caller mid-sentence, “is this about a promo?”

“Y-yes, sir,” she says over the crackle. What planet are these people dialing from, anyway? I wonder what time it is there, because right now I’m in the middle of preparing dinner.

“I’m not interested. Sorry.” I hang up before she can say something.

“There,” I say to Jenny, “that’s how you deal with them.” Curt, but civil. She gets her share of these unsolicited calls, too, the difference being she’s too polite, so she ends up listening to the whole spiel. If you ask me, you can be both polite and assertive. It’s your time they’re wasting, after all.

A week later I call the Globe hotline to report a problem with my Internet connection. The guy I’m connected to is solicitous and very earnest — I can imagine him furrowing his brows, studiously nodding along as I narrate my tale, as if I’m recounting a lover’s indiscretions instead of my modem going on the fritz yet again. After guiding me through the usual troubleshooting routine — to zero avail — he schedules a visit from their technical team within the next 24 hours.

“Any other concern, sir?” Hmm, shall I tell him about my ear infection, too? My doctor had given me a prescription for drops that sting like hell, saying that I was in no way to clean my ears in the meantime (“Believe me, earwax isn’t bad.”). This turned out to be mission impossible — I mean, Tom Cruise can climb the Burj Khalifa in a sand storm, but let’s see him resist the urge to scratch an itch, hah! Now the fungi (or whatever they are) have made it to my other ear. How am I going to explain this to Doc Roman?

Instead I ask the CSR if there’s any way I can get their pesky telemarketers off my back. What’s the harm in asking? Maybe Globe has a no-call list that it does not publicize. But my query clearly takes him by surprise; obviously he hasn’t been asked this before, which now surprises me: are Pinoys that polite? He puts me on hold for a good while (during which Globe bombards me with more offers to invade my privacy), and when he comes back on he is profusely apologetic for 1) the wait, 2) having to inform me they have no such policy (boo!!!), and 3) being born into this vale of tears, only to attend to people like me who want to deprive folk such as him of a job.

Of course I kid about the last. Anyway, he promises to “escalate” the issue to his superiors, although what I really want is Manny Pangilinan’s mobile phone number. Now that would be an escalation. Still, hats off to Globe for acting on my complaint in a timely and efficient manner. “Look at that!” the tech guy says to his partner. “It’s a legacy modem!” “Legacy” meaning old, out-of-date, obsolete.

“Replace it then,” I say.

“Can’t; it still works. Wow, I haven’t seen one of these in a long time.”

Oh, I can probably get a new modem without his help. An area manager is a friend (Bremie, if you are reading this, be so kind). In any case, the problem had resolved itself soon before the Globe techies arrived, making me feel silly calling for help in the first place.

“Happens all the time,” one says. “Here.” He gives me his number. I can see why he wants me to call him instead of the hotline. Globe is too thorough. They call to say that a technician will be phoning me. Then they call again after the technician calls them to say he has completed the job order. “Has your concern been addressed?” “Are our technicians wearing ID tags and proper uniform?” “Did they call to say that they were coming over?” “What is your middle name? Birthday?”

I wonder what would happen if I deliberately give her false answers. The job’s done; what can she possibly do? Terminate my connection? Blacklist my account? Worse comes to worst, I can always take up the next offer of a DSL and finally bid good riddance to my old modem. I can even register the new account in my father’s name — he rarely picks up the telephone, and I can always say he’s out. Hmm.