Posted on 07/10/2004 6:51:28 PM PDT by NovemberCharlie
How do you like this new Bell Canada 411 Dial-And-Win 75¢ instant lotto game? It’s great fun. You simply dial 411, pay your 75¢ fee, name the person you want and then see if it’s one of the lucky numbers they have listed. “Celine Dion’s personal line? I’m sorry, we have no such listing. Better luck next time!”
On the other hand, for 75¢, you could get my number. I asked Bell Canada for an unlisted one and they said sure, no problem. But, with that waspish sense of humour for which they’re renowned, they then stuck it in the telephone book. I didn’t really mind — not even when, after a column denouncing Serb-Canadian anti-NATO protests, I started getting death threats from aggrieved Serbs. “Prepare to die, you running dog of warmongering imperialism!” they’d say (I’m paraphrasing).
“Where did you get my number?” I’d say, indignantly.
“Bell Canada, of course.”
“Look, do you really think a controversial newspaper columnist would be dumb enough to be listed in the Montreal directory so anyone could come round and kill him?”
“Well, now you mention it, it does seem a bit unlikely…”
“Exactly. You want Mark Steyn the crazed right-wing xenophobe, I’m Mark Steyn the Mazda salesman from Verdun. I’m tired of getting his death threats. When you catch up with him, slice off a kneecap for me. Happy hunting!”
Last week, I moved again. This time, I asked my assistant, Chantal, to deal with Bell. After 20 minutes with them, she was threatening to walk out on me. So I did what every busy, important man does - I got my wife to call. “So you want all the numbers listed?” the guy said. “No, no,” she said, for the third time, want all the numbers unlisted.” I decided to take charge of operations myself. I verified the information in both of Canada’s official languages, English and French. Unfortunately, neither is Bell’s official language: At Bell, they speak either Cheery or Evasive.
On Monday, I returned from the United States for my rendezvous with Bell. The Post had been pestering me with one thing after another: “Mark, on Monday we want you to fly to Toronto, get on top of this airline merger story...” “Mark, we need you in Moncton, covering this Francophonie summit ...”
“Sorry, guys,” I said. "Monday I’ll be sitting around all day waiting for Bell Canada.”
After lunch, a nervous unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach prompted me to call to reconfirm. Martine Roy at Bell said the computer had no record of any new numbers or scheduled visit. She hinted that the fellow I spoke to last week was an impostor: there were certain telltale signs. “He told you the technician would call sometime between 12 and five?” she said. “That’s impossible. We only ever say between nine and live. But not to worry, Mr. Steyn,” Mme. Roy assured me. “I am working 200% on your case. Give me your number and I’ll get back to you.”
“I don’t have a number,” I said. “I’m in a pay-phone. That’s really the nub of the case right there.”
That’s what they call it at Bell Canada: a “case.” My case was a bit like Jon-Benet Ramsay’s: everyone had their own theories but no-one could solve it.
At 4:40, I called back and asked to speak to Martine. “I’ve never heard of a Martine Roy,” said the lady. “She works in your office,” I said. “Look her up in the staff directory.”
“I can’t do that,” she said.
“The telephone company doesn’t have a staff telephone directory?”
“I’m not saying we don’t have one,” she said. “But, if we do, I don’t have authority to access it.” She passed me to someone else, who passed me to someone else, who said the technician was scheduled to call before 6pm. But, if — perish the thought — by some unlikely chance he didn’t, I should call 611. “They’re open 24 hours,” she said.
At 6:30, I went back to the payphone, called 611, and got a recorded message. “Sorry you’re having problems. Thank you for calling Bell Canada!” Click.
On Tuesday, I tried again. The voice mail instructed me to enter my new telephone number, so I did. “We were unable to match the number you selected,” they pronounced, triumphantly. But eventually I came through to Diane Paquette. “I will have to get your file,” she said and put me on hold. Uniquely in the modern world, Bell Canada declines to play you any recorded music while you wait: I was in the mood for Glen Miller’s "Pennsylvania 6-5000" or The Marvelettes’ "Beechwood 45769", but no doubt they’ve been disconnected.
Anyway, my file is apparently kept in Trois-Rivières, for it was some time before Mme. Paquette returned. “It shows here that you were definitely down for a technician yesterday,” she said. “Which means a technician will definitely come today. I will transfer you to our experts who will make a verification.”
“The technician is supposed to come today,” agreed M. Bourson.
“But he was supposed to come yesterday,” I pointed out.
“Yes, but it was postponed until this morning.”
“But it’s now the afternoon …” For, although I’d begun my call to Bell Canada at 11:37 a.m., it was now 12:11 pm.
“Let me investigate,” he said. He came back some time later and said the technician would be there by one o’ clock. One o clock came and went, so did two, three, six, midnight, Wednesday morning and Wednesday afternoon. Martine, Diane, M. Bourson and your colleagues, genuine and impostors, I’ve enjoyed the many half-hour phone conversations I’ve had with you over the last week, but I’m going on vacation now so I thought I’d put it in writing. See the diagram below for where I’d like the new phone jacks to go.
The information superhighway is a funny old place. When you buy a computer, it generally comes with two or three Internet service providers offering instant packages. Press a button, give your Mastercard number, and you can be downloading nude shots of Dr. Laura in 10 minutes You can sign up for instant e-mail services from a zillion other companies. But I’ve now been without phone service for almost week and I can’t help feeling there’s something very odd about entrusting what are effectively the admission gates to the information super highway to an arthritic incompetent like Bell Canada. I think it was Mme. Paquette who suggested that, if was dissatisfied; I could call the CRTC. But the CRTC has long been every monopolist’s best friend, and, like them, looks on the Canadian consumer as a milch cow you can always strap another udder on. I think we need a regulator to regulate the regulators.
But, in the meantime, I have a message for baffled editors, long-lost friends, enraged Serbs and any others who’ve been calling Directory all the week: Don’t! Save your 75¢! My old number’s listed but disconnected, my new number’s unlisted but unconnected. I’ve dropped off the map: I’m out of the book, out of service, out of quarters, out of my head. I’m gone. There’s no point calling 411. Pass it around, spread the word. If every Serb who wants to kill me saves his 75¢, 411 profits will collapse and Bell Canada will eventually figure out they need that 500 buck installation fee off me.
It’s your call, guys.
Steyn's Request of the Week, on the glorious efficiency of Bell Canada.
I've never had a reason to call france, so I don't know.
Maybe communism would have made the french more efficient. And that's sad....
/john
After numerous calls to the cable tv company, the clerk said to me " I know how you can solve your problems, have us disconnect you." In one of the clearest moments of my life, I replied "that would solve YOUR problem, not mine".
FMCDH(BITS)
My first job after University was with Bell Canada. This was just when long distance was deregulated and opened up to competition. Sounds like not much has changed. Oh the stories I could tell....
ROFL! This is priceless!
How stupid.
“It shows here that you were definitely down for a technician yesterday,” she said. “Which means a technician will definitely come today. I will transfer you to our experts who will make a verification.” ....
hahahahahahahahaha
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