I am convinced that the closest one can come to hell on this planet is to have a phone conversation with Verizon tech support. Or more properly, several conversations, because one is never enough. Their phone number is embedded in my brain. Their hold music is burned forever in my ears. Their cheery, "Have a nice day," is alive in my gut.
It all started one morning with the message on my computer screen that my Internet use had been canceled. "See your server," it warned, so I did, assuming that some simple mistake had occurred and would be remedied as soon as the error was caught.
Sixteen calls later, now including the cancellation of my email and a notice that they were changing my home phone number, I was bordering on hysteria. I had already been helped by Molly, Rasheed, Shaheen, Zafea, John, Bruce, Annie, Owen, Elizabeth, Roy, Beth, Jonathan, Andrew, Mike, Moon and Bruce No. 2. I may have left out a few.
But I plunged on. There were threats, ugly words my children don't know I know and repeated conversations with the kind people at the suicide hotline. Then, my guardian angel, Steve, arrived and in an hour and a half had things humming along. I was good to go, he said, and I would like to believe him. I have hope but no expectations, and trust me, if it happens again I will take the easy way out. I will jump off of my balcony, even though it's on the first floor, and I will end up only with a broken leg or two. But that's OK. A good rest in the hospital is just what I need.