Wednesday, December 14, 2005

thank you for choosing SBC

Oh technology, you fickle so and so. You render me a caveman with your whims. This weekend, I was setting up my new office in the spare bedroom at my apartment. I am a caveman who likes to write. The internet, which had been working just fine a few hours earlier during my first cup of morning porn, suddenly went out. I'm not talking dial-up internet. I'm talking full on wireless DSL. I was baffled. All I did was move my laptop into the office. The wireless card had never been closer to the router and still, nothing. Son of a...!

Now, as the charlatan geek-caveman who set up the DSL and installed the wireless router, you'd think I'd spring into action with an arsenal of fancy code or passwords or administrator logins. No. I am a caveman and after batting the computer back and forth a bit with my hairy mitts, I restarted (rebooted, as us techies say.) It didn't work. I looked at the DSL box and the internet indicator was lit but, with my derring-do, I turned the box off. When I turned it back on, the internet light was out. It was a tell-tale sign. Whenever an indicator light is unlit, it means caveman go shopping. So, I went shopping for some baking supplies at Surfas, the most wonderful store in West L.A.

After a half hour wandering up and down aisles of bulk Valrhona chocolate and silicone muffin trays plus the inevitable travel time, I returned to my apartment an hour later with the full expectation of seeing my internet up and running. My hopes were dashed as the light was still out after a repeat on/off attack. I had hoped it wouldn't come to this final straw. It was time for the last resort. No, not clubbing the thing with my mallet fashioned from a petrified tree branch but, calling India.

After being funneled through a series of "Press or say "One"" prompts, I got a staticky human being on the phone.

"Hi and t-ank you for choo-ing SBC In-ernet Se-vices. My na-e is Scarlett, how can I he-p you?"

O'Hara or Johanssen? Or fever? Bless their accent elimination classes and culture-sensitivity training. Let's make the customer comfortable by each choosing the name of a celebrity or movie icon that U.S. residents would be familiar with and recognize. I'm sure it was just her stage name. Scarlett politely asked a litany of questions about what kind of computer I had, the lights on the DSL box, the router and what not. She was very kind and really wanted to help me get to sigalert.com so I could check the traffic on the freeway. While she was conducting a check on "something," we sat for a moment in an easy silence. Then...

"So, Kat-e, did you h-ve a ni-e Than-sg-ving?"

Hi and welcome to the Township of Awkward, population me. I wasn't sure how to respond. It was such an American question. Am I racist to conclude given the static, the accent and her faraway sound that she actually WAS far away and that any specific answer on my part would probably be moot? Caveman confused.

"I did actually. It was very nice." No need to share the details of renting a car and driving up the grapevine to Stanford to watch the Notre Dame game with the boyfriend. It's just unnecessary. But when someone asks about your holiday, you ask back. "Did you celebrate it? I mean, I'm assuming you are in India. Are you in India? Do people celebrate American Thanksgiving there?" And do they think that Americans are offensive, ignorant little shits who only know about eating cows and asking stupid questions?

Scarlett was three times a lady. "Yes, Kati- I am in Ind-a. Some pe-ple cel-brate T-anksgiving, some don't. I did. I saw my paren-s and my gran-pa." Wow, anyone who visits their grandpa is a friend indeed. So we got to talking about Thanksgiving traditions. She asked me for specifics.

"Well.. we eat a turkey and stuffing. Stuffing is like, bread crumbs and vegetables that you put inside the turkey. I guess that sounds pretty strange, huh?" Betcha they don't teach you nitty gritty stuff like this in your American culture class. No, no, they just teach you to say the customer's name every time you start a sentence and to replace "yes" with "sure." Scarlett told me to unplug the router and plug my computer directly into the DSL box. I did and the internet was revived. I reconnected the router, rebooted and everything was fine. "Power cycling," she said. I grunted. I was going to have to say goodbye to Miss O'Hara now that her work was done.

"K-tie, I wou-d like to call you t-morrow to make sure y-ur c-nne-tion is still OK. What would that be alr-ght? When would be a g--d time?" Well, how do you like that? For all the stigmas of India being a third world country, Scarlett was an example to be followed in the realm of customer service, follow-up and sincere dedication to one's chosen profession. I told her that I wouldn't be home the next day but I would be home in the evening on the following day. She said she'd try me then. We said goodbye and I suppose I could have told her another little tidbit about my American life. I was off to a Christmas party at the two-bedroom condo of one of my fabulous gay friends. When she called in a couple of days, maybe I would fill her in on the merry antics of a dozen homosexuals in various stages of inebriation, falling over one another with laughter while watching a DVD of a black female comic doing raunchy stand-up. No matter. Caveman pleased. Scarlett gave a damn.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home