Fun with Dick and Jane

Early in the movie “Fun with Dick and Jane” (original version), the title couple find themselves in difficult financial straits and rob the phone company. The patrons waiting in line cheer them on. I could relate then and, almost 35 years later, am even more empathetic.

My real issues began about ten years ago when I allowed myself to be dragged out of my dial-up cave. I received a modem in the mail and assiduously followed the instructions to hook it up. No soap. I retraced my steps without success. Access denied.

I called customer service and navigated through the various levels of automation that ascertain who you are, what language you speak and what kind of problem you have. When I finally established contact with a human being, he walked me through the proper set-up, noting that they were still packing obsolete instructions with the modems. Wouldn’t it be cheaper and create more good will to revise them than to have frustrated customers call in? If they’re pre-packed, why not slap a sticker on the outside with the corrections?

I assumed they were at the tail end of a print run or something. Not so, two years later, I helped a friend set up his modem and had the same issue.

Since that time, I’ve ramped up the computer capacity and the connection appeared to keep pace. That is, up until a couple months ago. Download speed slowed and the connection became intermittent.

I called customer service and wended my way through the maze until I reached a tech with a heavy accent. Not a great match for my impaired hearing.

He put me through a series of exercises that mostly consisted of unplugging and rebooting various components. I protested that I had already tried that but he insisted. I’d already caught onto the fact that rebooting is the equivalent elixir to the hard slap on the cabinet of my youth. The exercise was futile so we scheduled an appointment. I was given a four-hour window so write off a good part of the day.

The tech arrived and took several readings at various points in the circuit. He replaced an exterior box and the ancient modem, splitting the lines that serviced the computer and the phone. We tested it and everything worked fine. But, then again, sometimes it did.

The system waited until he cleared the block before acting up again. In retribution for my attack, it spread the glitches to the phone line. I called customer service on my cell the next day.

I jumped the hurdles of the automated system and gave the tech the history of the problems. He said he was looking at my information and they had the wrong settings. Great. He did a reset and it was of little help.

He said he’d give me a repair appointment but would first change the settings again so I’d have less trouble. I asked if it would be slower. He paused to contemplate and replied that it wouldn’t actually be slower. Actually? What does that mean? It was more like it would be different. What does that mean? Not the same as before. Thanks for walking me through that one.

The repairman arrived and took readings. He acknowledged that it was slow. He called up something on a device he had and asked where a street was that began with an “M.” M? Yes, his handheld was giving him an address of a junction box but only revealed the address number and the first letter of the name of the street. This is the 21st century, isn’t it? I could think of two streets offhand and he took off in search of the box.

He returned an hour later. He said he went to the main box and saw that my line was adjacent to a high capacity commercial line. Sometimes there’s interference. You put them together or don’t shield them because? He switched me to another line. Then he went to the neighborhood box and switched that line. With the previous alterations, I was all new from the main box to the computer.

We tested the speed and it had about doubled. Halleleujah! It was fixed! But, you’re ahead of me, aren’t you?

This time, it waited a couple hours before crapping out. I called customer service. Instead of it offering me a choice of language, it informed me that it was forwarding my call for service. I received about twenty seconds of music that would make Mitch Miller puke and then it hung up on me. I tried again. Same result. This was repeated a half dozen more times.

But, I’m not ready to go down to the phone company, brandishing a pistol. Not yet.