You should be paying ME to talk to YOU!
Many many many years ago, in the early days of cell phones, I worked customer service for a cell phone company, who’s name is just a bunch of letters. This man called in, and I was lucky enough to get him on my headset.
“Thank you for calling <redacted>. How can I help you?”
Him (screaming) “This fucking phone isn’t working! I can’t make calls and people call me and just get my voice mail! Fix it god damnit!”
Usually, the first thing we do is have to customer power the phone off and then on again. Nine times out of ten, this re-registered the phone on the cell site and made it work again. So I suggest this to him. He just continues to scream.
“Fuck you I’m not doing that! I’m a fucking lawyer. My time is very valuable! People pay me hundreds of dollars an hour. You should be paying ME to talk to YOU!”
As he’s ranting, I’m checking out the computer. We had two programs; one that was Windows based, contained all the normal account stuff and a DOS based program that would show you what cell sites they were pinging off of, as well as allow you to deauthorize their phone, basically knocking it off the cell site until they powered the phone off and on (sometimes the phones got hung up between sites). The Windows program could be seen by the bosses, but the DOS one could not.
I check his account in Windows. He’s all paid up and everything’s fine from that angle. I pull up the DOS program and sure enough, the cell sites aren’t picking up his phone. So I tell him again to just turn the phone off and on again, and that should fix the problem.
“FUCK YOU! I shouldn’t have to do that! I shouldn’t have to do anything you dumb bitch! You need to fix this right now. And I want my account credited for every second I can’t use my phone!” I explain that we can’t do that, his service is fine, all he has to do is pick up the cell site again. He continues to scream, yell and threaten to get me fired if I don’t fix his phone and give him credit. I keep telling him he has the ability to fix the problem himself if he just presses that one little power button. After some more cursing and sputtering, he finally hangs up on me.
After he hangs up and my ears stop bleeding, I go to add my notes about the call into the Windows program. I look back at the previous notes and see this guy has been a douche-nozzle to every single operator he’s ever spoken to. So I write his phone number down on a little post-it and stick it to my computer. For the rest of the time I worked there, whenever I had a spare minute, I’d pull his phone up in the DOS program and knock it off the cell site. And I did it completely randomly. Sometimes once a day, sometimes as many as twenty.
Petty? Absolutely. But it gave me a certain perverse joy.