Arepas and Gravy

I’ve found the core of the difference between my husband and I, illustrated perfectly by one incident: a call to customer service.

She was like this but female and beholden to a robot

You see, our evil phone carrier – T-Mobile you suck! – decided that I had signed up for their auto pay when I actually had not. Of if I had, then by God it was because their website redesign confused me. The point is, I didn’t mean to sign up and instead of sneakily sliding a big chunk of money out of my bank account on a Friday evening, they should have verified that I actually, you know… had given them permission.

To rob me.

Which I had not.

Of course I immediately called customer service. The conversation went a little something like this (to paraphrase):

Me: I’m livid. You’re going to give me my money back and you’re going to give it to me now.

Stammering CSR: But… the system… the system says you signed to automatically pay your bill…

Me: Oh really? Your system told you that? So obviously there’s no one there that can compete with the all powerful system? Well let me talk to your goddamn robot overlord then!

CSR Supervisor: She’s right. The system said you signed up to auto pay and there’s nothing we can do about it. If you want to cancel your contract, it’s $400. Bye.

Of course, I immediately hang up, dispute the charge with my bank, and file complaints with the Better Business Bureau and Planet Feedback. (I can be a somewhat contentious customer. Don’t cross me.)

The next thing I know, Señor is on the phone. His conversation goes a little something like this:

Señor: (smoothly Latin) Good evening. I am afraid there has been a small problem with our bill and I would like to make it right.

Competent CSR: But of course, kind sir. I will reverse that erroneous charge right now. And I apologize to you for our gross error. I wish I could offer you a freebie for your trouble, but you are already on our best plan. (swoon)

Come on! I have to talk to two increasingly douchebaggy CSR’s and get nothing, yet Señor calls up, rolls his r’s, and gets offered a present!

So yes, that’s the difference between hot-tempered, catch-more-flies-with-a-flamethrower-me, and smooth, patient sexy-accented Señor. Hmph.

Seems like I would learn my lesson and not start by yelling, but then, would I really be me?

Also, T-Mobile…  I’m coming for you.

Tags: Intercultural Marriage, Marriage, Senor FTW

This entry was posted on Friday, November 13th, 2009 at 5:00 am and is filed under Intercultural Marriage. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.