Friday, May 15, 2009
ping! supper's ready
A bad day yesterday which was rapidly crescendo’ed into the pique! Of an epic nightmare.
By one phonecall.
See I left my previous medical health insurance company when I started my job. More than a year later, without fail, I get a phonecall from them every month asking if I want to top up on my disability/funeral/medical insurance.
Your average sort of telemarketing-via-bombardment database cold-calling kind of crap we’re all subjected to every week or so, sure. Except not.
See, I get that my bank phones me. Because I belong to that bank. Do I want a home loan? A new card? No thanks, not for now. Annoying, but bearable if you’re having an average sort of day.
This insurance company, I left more than a year ago. And the 17 or so subsenquent calls I’ve had with them since I’ve got new medical aid is always the same.
We cover the same ground everytime, or at least for the past 17 calls. They flat-out ignore my one basic request. ‘Save yourself the call. Please just remove me.’
1) I am no longer a customer. I am with another company, so please take me off your database.
2) Delete my name right now. Save yourself the time, and save yourself from me: someone who can be a real bitch on the telephone. Especially if you’re calling me and I’m not your fucking customer anymore.
It took them a while to stop debiting my premium as well, but honestly? That’s child’s play on the spectrum of general annoyance. They promise to remove me, and they don’t. In return, they receive a smorgasbord of wrath, ever-rising, as the calls continue.
Surely they should’ve black-marked me as ‘Don’t call her she’s a bitch, danger danger,’ or put a little flag next to my details and marked off as ‘customer has requested to unsubscribe – multiple times - don’t fuck with?’
Yesterday I was strung out something chronic, and luckily for the guy at the call-centre, he got me.
I heard the ping in my brain. It sounds like an oven-timer. Somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, something catalytic just implodes, and the reaction is volatile.
‘Please can I just speak to your supervisor, I really need to speak to someone, because you people are driving me FUCKING. INSANE.’
I step outside.
As I wait for 10 minutes with the dude trying to find a person of seniority, and there is lots of screaming in the background - sounds like a playground where the kids have had too much sugar - alas, it seems finding a supervisor is a difficult one, for all concerned.
A voice, tentatively, picks up.
‘OK, here’s the vibe, now listen carefully. I’m just gonna spell it out, and sorry in advance for ruining your day.
I have had enough of the INCOMPETENCE and FAILURE TO TAKE MY NAME OFF THE DATABASE, and trust me – TRUST ME – I’ve had this conversation over 20 times before, so now you’re going to take me seriously.
Either you’re going to fucking listen, or I’m going to have to do something drastic. Please. Do myself and you a favour. You don’t wanna be listening to my screaming voice right now, and I don’t feel like screaming like a psycho bitch from hell. But realise from whence this hails: I’m not your customer, I haven’t been for some time, and frankly, after this bullshit, I never will be. Take my name off your database IMMEDIATELY, or else…um…………………….I’m coming over there. And trust me, you don’t fucking want that.’
He didn’t seem too perturbed even though my tone was dangerously psychopathic.
So here’s the thing – will they, won’t they? I’ll find out next month I guess.
I went out to dinner with a mate last night to let off some steam, the call was only the le pique of my frustrations yesterday, so small fry. But I nearly lost it. And it’s not PMS.
The Vaal this weekend will be much appreciated. Even if it’s going to be crazy.