It’s not often but, occasionally
I talk to myself. I meander into my
workshop with intent, only to quickly realize the purpose was lost in a mere
few steps. That, is what we call a brain
fart. The verbal rambling begins, met by
a blank stare from Smokey the cat.
Eventually I remember and start anew on my quest for whatever the
original task was, and then complete it.
Still, along the way, a couple of
sentences meant for no one but me were uttered uselessly.
I can’t really say this is a more
frequent occurrence than before, just more annoying. That is because I don’t have nearly as much
on my mind as I did when I was gainfully employed.
So it was when I was on the phone
attempting to acquire a manual for my refrigerator that I recalled my
self-chatting and realized just how sane I was.
My sainted wife and I own a
Samsung French door refrigerator with an ice maker. Somewhere along the way the user manual
became lost. Don’t ask me where or how.
To attempt to rectify this
seemingly insignificant issue, I simply found the phone number for Samsung on a
sticker inside the wine cooler, aka: the vegetable tray.
I called and got an automated
receptionist, aka: annoying woman’s voice.
Immediately, I was notified that
this call would be monitored for quality control. If someone was available to monitor this
call, why not simply answer?
In any case, I was prompted to
say my first name, and then spell it.
Next, I was asked to say my last name, and spell it. In between these prompts were annoying sound
effects attempting to simulate someone typing on a computer keyboard. It was really hokey because after my first
name – Uncle Paul – the fake computer clicks lasted for at least 18 seconds. That’s enough time for a good secretary to
type the Gettysburg Address.
Throughout all this clicking, I
attempted to make small talk with my automated information taker. I tried to converse about the weather and I
even asked her for a date. All fell on
deaf digital ears. There was no other
person on the line, and I now realized that I was, once again, talking to
myself.
Three more minutes passed and I
was informed I would be directed to a customer representative. This time I was connected to a real life
person who was fluent in Hindi.
 |
| Not an automatic ice maker |
He was pleasant but, clearly he
had no idea of the importance of self-dispensing ice crescents.
You see, the ice maker
manufactures ice crescents rather than cubes.
Sure, they’re cute and all, but if you refer to them as ice cubes, they
should be – at least – rectangular, if not cubed. But I digress.
The fellow with whom I was now
connected was named Afzal. He was
pleasant enough but not at all helpful.
He had real trouble pronouncing my name even after I has spoken clearly
to the digital babe.
After providing Afzal with all my
important information, including the refrigerator’s serial number, he informed
me he could not provide me with a manual. Evidently, Samsung is poorer than I
thought.
I needed to go on their website
to download it. That effort only
consumed another twenty minutes.
I can’t wait for the call from
Samsung to have me complete my satisfaction survey. I’m going to write it in Hindi.
