I don't like making phone calls to people I don't know about "grown up stuff." I've heard people talk about their negative views of the future: "One day, everything a human can do will be done by a machine!" I don't think that's a plesant thing, either, but I must say that when it comes to telephones, I'd RATHER talk to a machine than to a human. I'd rather deal with all the "Enter your account #. You entered blahblahblah. Press one if this is correct. Press two if this is INcorrect" nonsense before talking to an actual human being. I'm not really sure why. I haven't recently had any huge unpleasantness with the person on the other end of the phone. They're usually very helpful and can solve my problem more quickly than the automated "press 1 if correct" silliness.
BUT...I just don't like talking to them. My social awkwardness/anxiety kicks in full gear just THINKING about calling an unknown person on the phone. I even have issues calling to order pizza. It's pretty much ridiculous, but I don't know how to make it stop.
A few weeks ago, I was trying to pay one of my bills online. It's one of those great places where you type in your username/password, you click two buttons, and you're done. No 3 gazbillion security questions. So I typed in my username. I typed in my password. It didn't accept my password. No big deal. I have about half a dozen passwords I use for different things. I typed in another password. Didn't take that either. Still no big deal. I tried a variation on another password. Didn't take that. The little voice in the back of my head that I really should listen to more often said, "Ruth, just click "I forgot my password" and let them email it to you." I said, "No little voice in the back of my head that I really should listen to more often, NO! I will not be defeated by my poor memorization skills! I will remember this password!" So I tried another password. No access. Again, the little voice in the back of my head that I really should listen to more often said, "Um, Ruth, I think you really should just ask them to send you your password." But no! It had become a game. I was competing against myself, trying to guess the password I had used. I kept typing passwords and variations of passwords.
And then it happened, as the little voice in the back of my head that I really should listen to more often had tried to warn me. Up pops the security screen. "You have exceeded the number of login attempts and your account has been frozen. Please call 1800-SERIOUSLYYOUCANTREMEMBERYOUROWNPASSWORDJERKFACE? in order to speak to one of our Customer Service Representatives."
I broke out in a cold sweat. Few things terrify me more than the words "Customer Service Representative." I turned off my computer and doused it in holy water. Ok, so I didn't. But only because it was my roommate's computer...and I didn't happen to have any holy water handy.
The little voice in the back of my head that I really should listen to more often said, "Ruth, you need to call so you can pay your bill." I knew the little voice in the back of my head that I really should listen to more often was absolutely right, but so great was my fear that I knew I would wait until the last possible moment. For the next few weeks, the reality of having to eventually call the Customer Service Representative hung over me like a death sentence. I know I should have just made the call and gotten it over with, but apparently I am a pansy.
My bill was due today. I had the morning off. I spent my time getting up, praying to be spared from the torture of having to make the phone call. I watched some tv, did some knitting. I even cleaned out the dishwasher to avoid making that call. But eventually the little voice in the back of my head that I really should listen to more often finally won out.
I dialed the number, and was relieved to hear an automatic voice. Maybe I was saved. Maybe I could just do this account unfreezing thing automatically. Automatic man listed off my options: "Press 1 if your service has been disconnected. Press 2 if you have inquiries about your bill or if you would like to make an automated payment. Press 3 if you enjoy long walks on the beach, pina coladas, and polka music." Automatic man needs to get out more. I pressed 2.
Automatic man continued. "Please enter your account number."
D'OH. I don't have my account number. Access to my account number is neatly frozen up in my frozen account. Then Automatic Man said: "Press 0 at any time to speak to one of our Customer Service Representatives."
I nearly hung up. Okay. So I did hang up. After all, I didn't NEED to pay that bill. What if they disconnected my service? I don't need all my utilities, do I?
Yeah.
I had to give myself a pep talk before I could call again. This time, I ignored Automatic Man's suggestion that I press "dos para espanol," and with fear and trembling, I pressed the dreaded 0 key.
After Automatic Man advised me that my call might be recorded for the purpose of giving all the employees of the company something to laugh at during their Christmas party, I was put through to a nice lady named Victoria. Now, my mom's name is Victoria. It's a nice name, but at the time, all I could think of was Twilight Victoria. She was going to come through the phone and drink my blood. I just knew it.
Instead, she asked me some security questions. I stuttered through them. I gave her the wrong phone number. I couldn't spell my own email address. She didn't seem fazed by this. Apparently I'm not the only socially awkward caller they get around there. She unfroze my account and sent me my shiny new password so I could continue using the happy Customer Service Representative free online bill payment. The whole process was over in about 2 minutes. She was very pleasant and helpful, and I had suffered weeks of anxiety for nothing. But the call wasn't quite over yet...
As the conversation ended, she said, "Thank you for calling."
"You too," I said cheerfully.
I think I heard her laugh at me right before I hung up the phone.
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