Flabbergasted by a Flarkhead

My phone doesn’t work. Neither does my Internet. Actually, that’s not true. The phone and Internet are fine. The service, though, that allows them do that which they were designed to do, is broken.

For 16 days, I have been without them. The first 15 days came and went without much grumbling from me. I made 4 separate attempts to have someone from the phone company come out and take a look. Each time I was very nice and cordial and understanding when Latisha, Shawndressa, Anoop or Steve, respectively, told me they were doing all that they could to resolve the issue(s)…

But four scheduled repair visits came and went… unvisited, and something must’ve happened in the middle of the night last night. To me, I mean. I woke up this morning and wanted blood. I wanted to hear Anoop scream in agony. I desperately needed to make Shawndressa cry. If Latisha had been within striking distance, I would have dropkicked her and then smashed her face with the sole of my shoe like a discarded cigarette. And I don’t even want to tell you about the hell I was planning for Steve.

Oooooh, Stephen.

Using my cell phone, I called the “877” number to see what the matter was… is… whatever. After cursing at the recorded greeting, I was patched through to a new guy. I didn’t catch his name, but I’m pretty sure there were 13 consonant sounds in it and it ended with “ing.”

“Ing” proceeded to tell me that there had been a lot of problems reported over the last 2 or 3 days in my area and that “eef you weel be pah-shunt, I ahm shure ehberee-ting weel be OK veddy, veddy soon.”

I started to cry a little, to be honest with you. I did. And then I asked to speak with someone else because, “I’m sorry, but I am having a hard time understanding you. I need to speak with someone I can have a conversation with because I don’t know what ‘ehberee-ting weel be OK veddy, veddy soon’ means and I am about to lose my s*@#!”

“Ing” then asked that I “hold, p-dease, for Mr. Steve,” who would be with me in “dust a teeny moment.”

Steve? Did he just say, “Steve”?

Oooooh, Stephen.

After an exchange of I-know-you are-but-what-am-I level back and forths (that I am not very proud of), and a few made-up cuss words (that I actually am very proud of, i.e., “Flarkhead,” which is just plain awesome), Steve said something in response to my “when will this be fixed?!” question/demand that resonates even now – five hours later:

“Mr. Ivey, it is our policy to not give you an exact date or time for completion of a job after we have failed more than twice to meet your earlier expectations. We do not want you to be disappointed.”

I don’t know what happened next, because I blacked out. Seriously. “We do not want you to be disappointed” flabbergasted me enough to knock me flat out.

I still don’t have a working phone or Internet, so could somebody please check Web MD or something and let me know if the tingling in my arm and the twitching in my right eye are things I should be worried about… or just harmless and natural reactions to Flarkheads?

Author’s note: This is a re-post from The Burnside Writer’s Collective blog.


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