Thursday, November 01, 2007

Marcellus Wallace don't like to be fucked by anybody except Mrs. Wallace.

I understand and appreciate the need to keep my credit card secure, I really do. But ever since my card was magically changed over to Bank of America, the amount of security on it has become ricockulous.

I locked myself out this morning because I didn't know the answers to my security questions. What kind of questions were they? Where is your vacation home? and Where did you meet your husband? (city only) No, I don't have a vacation home but I'm pretty sure I would answer Tokyo. Alas, no. Just for shits I tried Austin and Northfield, but apparently no. And call me INSANE, but I'm pretty sure I know where I met my goddamn husband. Is it case sensitive? Is it my system? Who knows. Certainly not the twats on the other end of the phone tonight.

The first guy failed me because I did not know my Verbal Passcode (I never call these people), nor my credit limit (why would I, they raise it all the time and I'm nowhere near it) and I could not tell him the exact amount of the last payment since GUESS THE FUCK WHAT, I CAN'T LOG IN. Didn't matter I could tell him I was a member since 1998 nor that I used to live in Japan nor that I JUST BOUGHT GODDAMN CHOCOLATES FOR $40 AT VERMONT CHOCOLATIERS. Nay, these things matter not.

He had me call back and get someone else since he could not help me. The second person asked me the same cunting questions.

And then transferred me to a Different Department that had Different Verification Questions.

That guy kinda chuckled and told me my exorbitant credit line but then just transferred me back to the online people who kept me on hold for so fucking long I could have cooked an egg with a lighter, should the need have arisen. (And he never asked me any questions at all, so that was cute and consistent...NOT).

The fourth person was actually helpful and reset my shit. She offered some lame excuse about how my system might not see my answers the right way. I don't know, I just want to pay the fucking bill. There's really not a whole lot you can DO online, after all, do they have many complaints about criminal bill payment these days?

I take full responsibility for not knowing my obscure-ass security questions the system arbitrarily asks me. I think I do know the answers, but for some reason (again, the system? the way I type it in?) the computer did not like it, nor would it let me unlock it with their email code. It sent it to me three times but never worked.

What I DO have a problem with is being blind-transferred between two departments repeatedly and getting nowhere. I have a problem with a company that doesn't go to the trouble to hire people with brains who can use them and make judgment calls. They would prefer to scrape the bottom of the barrel and annoy the ever-living-fuck out of me so I just won't call. You laugh--expect the people on the other end to HELP??? I wouldn't think such a thing were even possible if I didn't work for a company that does just that. At my company they go out of their way to empower us to make Actual Decisions and Use Our Fucking Brains and Sense of Reason. It shouldn't be that shocking, which is really sad.

But being on the phone with Bank of America for THIRTY GODDAMN MINUTES to just unlock my cunting account? It may be the (seemingly) simplest of problems, but they somehow managed to nudge me almost to the edge of feces-throwing rage. There was no reason the first three fucks shouldn't have been able to help me.

Good job, Bank of America. I'm transferring that balance the first chance I get. (To someone else completely incompetent, no doubt, in subtle yet different ways).


Skylers Dad said...

And did you have to first spend about 15 minutes navigating through one of those fucking phone trees?

I swear those are in place to just to wear you down a bit, you know, take a little of the fight outta ya before the human picks up the phone.

Ellen Aim said...

I'm immature enough to just hit 0 or pound sign or just tell it "agent" repeatedly. I refuse to play their little tree games. You know each call goes to the same fucking department anyway....