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Fun with Numbers- Saturday edition
Feb. 16th, 2014 09:12 amIn no particular order:
Eight. And Ninety-five.
Yesterday was a rather busy day as Saturdays go; I had my first weight workout in almost two weeks to start the day, then had to finalize the banking from a late-Friday closing, and had a Saturday client appointment. I usually keep away from those, but this is a new client, referred by a guy I've known for close to 30 years, and it could be important. So I set it for 1 p.m.
A little before noon, the fun began.
Emily's been having the same problem with capacity with her iPhone 4 that I have- had, in my case, as recently as earlier yesterday when I tried to take that rather amazing picture. So she decided to seek her own fortune with another company, since AT&T made clear that she would not be eligible for an unlimited data plan on her own or anything close to one. (I've been grandfathered in with one since time immemorial, but she bumps up against her limit on a semi-regular basis.)
I told her to check with them first, anyway- just to see if there could be some dispensation in order to keep a fleeing customer, but also to be sure that the two-year contract on her current phone was up. She did; they wouldn't; and it was. She was free to go, and so she went- to Sprint, where she was signed up for a "family plan" with some unknown "family" she will never have any contact with. She traded in her iPhone 4, they moved everything over to the 5, but they then needed information from me (the account's technical owner) to port the number. Including the PIN.
The huh? I've never used anything with them requiring one; I have an online password, but not a PIN. Call 611, they said. And, after delays due to the disastrous storms in the Northeast ::whistles happily::, I got grrl who told me what it was, tried to sell me on an almost-as-good-as-unlimited plan, and then said, oh, just so you know, the two years aren't up until a week from next Friday so there will be a $95 early termination charge on your next bill.
REALLY?!? That's not what we were told. So I called her back and tried to get it put off by the eight days, but, no- it was all signed, sealed and ported by then. The AT&T dude she talked to pretty much admitted that he'd been a lazy bum and hadn't checked the actual expiry date (they highlight your "eligible for upgrade" date, which is shortly before the actual end of the contract, but the date itself takes actual digging). To reactivate the old one for the eight days at this point would then require a new cancellation charge on the new one, and we were in Cell Hell. So in the end, I told her I'd protest the charge when it gets on that next bill, and threaten them with us leaving if they want to be dicks about it.
Hey- maybe we'll even get a nice new anonymous family out of the deal.
----
Sixty-seven.
While these calls were all coming and going, the 1:00 client was nowhere to be seen. Until I found out why.
We also hate the Postal Service, you see. When they built my Buffalo office building, it was supposed to have a distinctive and easily-found address: 6700 on one of the most iconic streets in town. But they then decided it was set back too far from the road, and we thus were assigned a "house number" on the one-block, dead-end cross street that nobody can find and even fewer people can spell. So to make things simple: unless the client has GPS and a good pair of ears to take down the actual address, I direct them to 6700, and tell them to park in the lot which we share with another building that is close enough for the coveted numbering.
Apparently this did not work out, for the client announced he was nowhere near 6700 on my street, but, rather, 67. Which is as far from my office on that street as you can be without being on center ice of the Sabres' hockey barn.
I spent the next half hour (when I wasn't talking to Emily or mobile company idiots) talking him in from this faraway place. At this point, I went for the simple things:
Get on the 33 and stay there. Call me when it ends.
Do not go into the airport. Go all the way past it and turn left at the strip club.
Oh, you turned right. Make a u-turn. Preferably not in the strip club lot.
Finally, he got there, but it was quite the experience.
----
Eighteen.
How many minutes I've got to make the 11 mile drive to my Sunday class. Seeyas.
Eight. And Ninety-five.
Yesterday was a rather busy day as Saturdays go; I had my first weight workout in almost two weeks to start the day, then had to finalize the banking from a late-Friday closing, and had a Saturday client appointment. I usually keep away from those, but this is a new client, referred by a guy I've known for close to 30 years, and it could be important. So I set it for 1 p.m.
A little before noon, the fun began.
Emily's been having the same problem with capacity with her iPhone 4 that I have- had, in my case, as recently as earlier yesterday when I tried to take that rather amazing picture. So she decided to seek her own fortune with another company, since AT&T made clear that she would not be eligible for an unlimited data plan on her own or anything close to one. (I've been grandfathered in with one since time immemorial, but she bumps up against her limit on a semi-regular basis.)
I told her to check with them first, anyway- just to see if there could be some dispensation in order to keep a fleeing customer, but also to be sure that the two-year contract on her current phone was up. She did; they wouldn't; and it was. She was free to go, and so she went- to Sprint, where she was signed up for a "family plan" with some unknown "family" she will never have any contact with. She traded in her iPhone 4, they moved everything over to the 5, but they then needed information from me (the account's technical owner) to port the number. Including the PIN.
The huh? I've never used anything with them requiring one; I have an online password, but not a PIN. Call 611, they said. And, after delays due to the disastrous storms in the Northeast ::whistles happily::, I got grrl who told me what it was, tried to sell me on an almost-as-good-as-unlimited plan, and then said, oh, just so you know, the two years aren't up until a week from next Friday so there will be a $95 early termination charge on your next bill.
REALLY?!? That's not what we were told. So I called her back and tried to get it put off by the eight days, but, no- it was all signed, sealed and ported by then. The AT&T dude she talked to pretty much admitted that he'd been a lazy bum and hadn't checked the actual expiry date (they highlight your "eligible for upgrade" date, which is shortly before the actual end of the contract, but the date itself takes actual digging). To reactivate the old one for the eight days at this point would then require a new cancellation charge on the new one, and we were in Cell Hell. So in the end, I told her I'd protest the charge when it gets on that next bill, and threaten them with us leaving if they want to be dicks about it.
Hey- maybe we'll even get a nice new anonymous family out of the deal.
----
Sixty-seven.
While these calls were all coming and going, the 1:00 client was nowhere to be seen. Until I found out why.
We also hate the Postal Service, you see. When they built my Buffalo office building, it was supposed to have a distinctive and easily-found address: 6700 on one of the most iconic streets in town. But they then decided it was set back too far from the road, and we thus were assigned a "house number" on the one-block, dead-end cross street that nobody can find and even fewer people can spell. So to make things simple: unless the client has GPS and a good pair of ears to take down the actual address, I direct them to 6700, and tell them to park in the lot which we share with another building that is close enough for the coveted numbering.
Apparently this did not work out, for the client announced he was nowhere near 6700 on my street, but, rather, 67. Which is as far from my office on that street as you can be without being on center ice of the Sabres' hockey barn.
I spent the next half hour (when I wasn't talking to Emily or mobile company idiots) talking him in from this faraway place. At this point, I went for the simple things:
Get on the 33 and stay there. Call me when it ends.
Do not go into the airport. Go all the way past it and turn left at the strip club.
Oh, you turned right. Make a u-turn. Preferably not in the strip club lot.
Finally, he got there, but it was quite the experience.
----
Eighteen.
How many minutes I've got to make the 11 mile drive to my Sunday class. Seeyas.