When Bad Service Is All You Expect

Samhain                                               New (Thanksgiving) Moon

Over to Comcast offices, a 20 minute drive, to pick up the multi-channel cable card a Comcast chatline worker told me I could pick up there.  After taking a number, 14, while the number being served was 90, I sat down, thinking the wait was worth it because I’d driven the whole way.  So I sat.  As the numbers ticked off, I watched a guy who had an angry countenance grimace, a man a good 6 feet five inches walk in with a cable box under his arm.  His pants had a belt and suspenders.  Safer that way.  A small boy with a mischievous smile ran up to the number dispenser and started to take one, then looked back at his mom so the proper expression of dissatisfaction could register, smiled and ran over to her.  Most folks sat resignedly cable boxes, dvr boxes or modems clutched in their hands, having done Comcast the service of getting in their cars, using their gas and coming all this way just to do business with the folks to whom each of us shell out so much money each month.

(I’m not the only with complaints against Comcast.)

13.  “13.”  “13.”  Ah.  “14.”  “I need a multi-channel cable card, please.”  “We don’t carry those, you have to schedule a service call.”  The drive, the wait, for something I could have handled over an interminably long phone call, but at least I would have already been at home.  Unhappy camper here.

I’m gonna start looking at alternatives.  Right away.  Like right now.

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