Notes From Under the House

I had been getting the Sunday New York Times for a number of years. Aside from the few times receiving a damaged paper due to rain, I never had a problem with my subscription. Recently, I had become dissatisfied with the writing of the paper (not the book section), so I called to cancel, giving them the reason that I just wasn’t interested in the paper at the moment. The customer service rep asked if I would be interested in receiving the book review only. I excitedly said yes and mentioned that that was mainly the reason I was getting the Sunday edition. Thus, I began a subscription to the NYT Book Review, and was told it would be in my mail box each Monday. The next Monday came and went. No paper. Another Monday came and went. Still, I received no paper. So I called. They gave me credit and assured me I would receive the following Monday’s book review, but if I hadn’t received it by that Thursday, to call back. I still received no paper. So I called again. The customer service rep, a young-sounding man, asked if I wanted to have them investigate the carrier. I’m thinking they’re going to call my local post office to find out why I’m not receiving my paper, so I said yes. I asked him how long he thought the investigation would take. He couldn’t answer me. He put me on hold. He came back on the line and explained that they would do everything they could to find out from the carrier what was going on. Something made me ask him if he knew who the carrier was. He said no. I asked how they were going to ask the carrier if they didn’t know who to contact. He mumbled something.

I’m thinking to myself, this isn’t a magazine subscription where you have to wait four to six weeks before you receive your first issue; this is a frickin’ supplement.

I kept my calm the whole time. I know that when you want something, the best way (they say) to get it is to be as professional and polite as possible (what’s that saying, kill ‘em with kindness?). But when I get really perturb, I speak slower than normal and really annunciate my words (to keep from flying off the handle) because I’m just weird that way I suppose. But by now, I had had enough. I told him to just forget it; I just wanted to cancel my subscription. He tried to get me to change my mind by telling me that he had credited my account, and blah, blah, blah. I told him this is not the way to do business; I told him I didn’t understand what was so difficult about delivering a paper and to please cancel my subscription. He finally asked me if he could put me on hold again while he spoke with a supervisor. I said yes, but I was thinking they all could go jump in a lake. After a few minutes an older-sounding gentleman with a distinctly southern accent gets on the line (honestly, if my claws weren’t out, I would have been purring – he had such a nice voice). He told me he understood my frustration and that the young man had erroneously told me that they would contact the carrier. He explained that it was their mail room they were going to investigate. He verified my mailing address and said that he would take care of it. He even gave me his name and extension if I had further questions. The following week, a customer service rep called me every frickin night to confirm I had received my paper. Yes, I received it. This past Monday I did not. Here we go again. I get to work yesterday and I call them again. This time a woman sales rep told me that only a supervisor could cancel my subscription. Okay.

I mentioned the name of the supervisor I had spoken with and gave his extension. She told me he wasn’t working. I asked to be put in contact with “a” supervisor. She told me a supervisor wasn’t working. I asked her not a single supervisor is working today? Then she told me no one was available because they were all in a meeting. These people are workin’ my last nerve. While gritting my teeth, I asked if I could leave the supervisor a message. She hesitated then said sure, but she had to take the message rather than put me in his voice mail. I was about ready to rip someone a new one by then. But I don’t know what came over me, because all of a sudden my voice turned giddy and I told her in my most kiss-ass voice that I would try to reach him later on that day. And then I slammed the phone down. I called this morning (what does that make this, four times?), and I got a young woman who politely transferred me to “that” department. A young man got on the line and I politely, but firmly told him I was canceling my subscription. He politely inquired as to why, and I told him I couldn’t seem to get a book review on a regular basis (and I was tired of sounding like a broken record). He apologized, canceled my subscription lickety-split, and said I would receive a statement of cancellation in the mail.

Now what the devil was so hard about that?!

And I thought it was just the L.A. Times that was having problems!

I’ve also canceled my long time subscription to Black Expressions book club. When I first joined they had a comprehensive selection of black literature and I fulfilled my obligation within the first six months. Within the last two years the quality of books has gone downhill, in my opinion. Not to be a little snot but, I have no interest in titles or subject matter like Every Thug Needs a Lady (which is the sequel to Thugs and the Women Who Love Them). Another thing: if I ever write a book, I will not have on the cover a gold bikini wearing-hands on the hips holding a wad of money-legs wrapped around some no neck goon caricature of me.

On a happier note: I don’t know how I missed this book, but I’m going to go pick it up from B&N tomorrow after work.