It is a week before deadline and I have been cut off from civilization.

Our communications service provider (ha!) which cunningly talked us into a single telephone, internet and cable TV bundle, is experiencing a major outage. I know that because after failing to reach the outside world via the usual channels, I used my prepaid cellphone (supplied by that other communications service provider – ain’t competition a wonderful thing?) to find out why I couldn’t go online, or telephone anyone or even, if I were so inclined at this early hour, watch TV.

My first attempt, which took me through a long list of voice mail options, ended prematurely when the robot asked if I would like to speak to a representative. In my excitement I nearly fell off my bar stool, inadvertently cutting myself off in the process. Never, in all my excruciating efforts to contact my current communications nemesis, had I been offered such a rich prize – the opportunity to talk to a live piece of non-software. No more, “I think you said, ‘wireless.’ If that is correct, say ‘yes’. I’m sorry, I did not understand that. Did you say ‘wireless’?” etc. etc.

Once I had recovered from the shock, I had to start all over again. When I finally got back to the bit of the menu I wanted, the robot reverted to its preferred mode of non-communication. Its message was along the lines of “We are experiencing a major outage affecting all our services.” Thus, it went on, there was a correspondingly massive lineup of people trying to call in. As ever, talking to someone was never really on the agenda.

Why is it that communications companies (hollow laughter) don’t communicate the most important news up front instead of asking more questions than a Revenue Canada tax form before getting to the point? Isn’t it obvious that the best way to handle the huge volume of calls is to tell people about the outage right away so that they hang up and wait until their phones are working again?

Mr. Wallethead and I pondered these points as we sat down to breakfast. Suddenly the idea of bundling seemed a lot less attractive. If a cable provider goes down for any length of time, you are stuck without a land line or an internet connection. And because quasi-monopolies package television programs to ensure that you never get what you want unless you buy a whole lot of stuff you will never watch, the savings are minimal, particularly once the introductory offer expires and your bill goes into the stratosphere.

On the other hand, having their ‘valued’ customers abandon them in frustration doesn’t fit in with their marketing plans. Refusing to bundle up not only protects beleaguered consumers against total meltdown when their service goes down, it also gives them a rare opportunity to kick back against the vast corporate wall of indifference they experience the minute they sign a contract.

Like unrequited lovers, big companies are interested only in the chase. Once they’ve got you hooked, your file goes into the black hole assigned to the grunts of the bundle buggy brigade, a category overseen by the VP of customer dissatisfaction, whose mission it is to ensure you can’t ever get what you want.

Comedian Bob Zany summed up the whole dilemma rather nicely when he said, “I read that 28 per cent of Americans think they can communicate with the dead. The other 72 per cent switched back to AT&T.”

Categories: Columns, Vintage Whine
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