By Mary Cristy
I’ve got those billing debacle blues
I have panic attacks. I’ve developed a nervous tic. My doctor thinks I’m “overwhelmed” and wants me to see a psychologist. My “take” is, I need an island where I can wear a grass skirt, and a small coconut I can split in two for a bustier to contain my shrinking assets. I attribute my twitching and shrinking to global billing and the time I spend telephoning to correct egregious errors.
Having accepted Pac Bell’s recommendations for “five cent a minute calls” I was lulled into euphoria. Now I could talk to my East coast sister and brother for 60 minutes for a pittance
I’m sadder but wiser now. .My rose-colored glasses lie shattered at my feet. July was the month that did it with an eleven page presentation of charges.Page one showed a whopping $217 due, while pages 2&3 itemized taxes and surcharges. Additional enclosures from MCI and Var-Tac showed tabs of $33.65, and $77. respectively. Page 4 was a mavericK ZPDI (at least to me it was unfamiliar) and listed four calls for a total of $75. Two were 8 minute calls, and two were l4 minutes each.
It’s anybody’s guess why these strangers were included when my dealings heretofore have been solely with Pac-Bell and A.T&T.
I pulled up a chair and braced for the long journey to the wonderful world of 1-800. Four separate numbers were on each page, and I called each one in turn to discover whose disclaimer was valid. At last a kind woman at Pac Bell explained.
“I know what you’re saying, I’ve worked here 48 years and I know how it used to be”
Ours was the last generation that expected systems to work, who demanded products with lifetime guarantees instead of 30-day warranties. Granted, we might also be the last of the fuddy-duddies. Perhaps things would be simpler in Heaven.
“Do they have telephones in Heaven?” , I asked. “If so I’m going to Hell!
She promised refunds on the dollar-a-minute calls that had been re-routed to outside companies without my knowledge, and was as good as her word. The “mavericks” MCI, ZIPD and Var-Tac are still out there and I trust will remain uninvolved with my calls from now on.
I felt relieved for a brief period before my P.G&E bill came for a staggering $971.l2, instead of the usual monthly “balanced payment” charge of $488.
Phone calls to P.G. & E and my local bank gobbled up another morning. The bank manager verified my July $488 check to P.G.& E, and had already listed it on my statement.
“Their bank made a mistake,” he explained, ” and credited you with only $4.88. ” Hence the overcharges
These happenstances are simply the tip of the iceberg. My car and home insurance company is in San Jose, but billing is done in Dallas,Texas. Another creditor cuts corners by having billing done in India. With the left hand sometimes clueless about what the right hand is doing, and with language problems to compound possible misunderstandings the margin for error becomes boundless.
A Jehovah witness friend of mine sighs darkly, “Why do you think they call it ‘the Web?’”
Devil’s tool or modern miracle? We have advocates in both camps.
My happily retired brother in Florida looks upon all this confusion with amusement.
‘You gotta know how to work with the system.” he reasons. “Ignore the menus. DON’T PRESS ANY BUTTONS! That way you at least start out with a person to talk to.”
Be that as it may, I’m leaving for a place where the only connection with our “civilized” world is a supply boat that docks once a month to deliver provisions.
I shall spend my declining years swimming, snorkeling, dancing barefoot on tropic sands in my hula skirt, and coconut bra, while the sun bakes my ancient bones and the fish go swimming by.
Mary Cristy is a longtime contributor to the Town Crier. Her column runs the first week of every month.
