Cable, Vinegar and Cookies

Sometimes my convictions last a very long time. Like that Peter Gallagher hang-up. Or my assertion that Boy George is the most underrated popular performer of the Twentieth Century (seriously). Sometimes they don't last very long at all. Not two months ago, the Boy told me he'd considered getting me TiVo for my birthday, and I said, quite sincerely, that that was okay, since I didn't like the idea of paying more per month than I already do for cable, and I already watch too much TV anyway. Not two weeks ago, I said right here on this blog that any TV-viewing I couldn't handle with my trusty VCR was more than I should be allowed to handle anyway.

Then I realized I'd forgotten to tape The West Wing twice last week, and had totally forgotten that The Reality of Reality even existed, and I'm never aware enough in the morning to think to tape Ellen's new talk show (oh how I hate working days!), so I swapped my digital cable box for Time Warner’s new Digital Video Recorder.

My other arguments for not wanting TiVo were price, lack of space to put another piece of equipment, and the fact that I don't have a phone line (cell and broadband only for me).

Lest there was any doubt that Time Warner is an evil, evil organization, they've managed to destroy all of these arguments in one fell swoop. This thing replaces my cable box, so it's not extra stuff, and it doesn't cost anything since I don't technically own it. It gets its data through the cable, so it doesn't need a phone line. And the service only costs a few dollars more than my digital cable did.

So of course it was too good to be true.

Last Friday I brought my trusty little cable box to work with me. I kept checking on it under the desk and feeding it scraps when no one was looking. I don't think it had any idea I was giving it away. Poor thing, it made me sad. I stopped by the Time Warner center (is that what you call it? it's not really a store) on 23rd Street on the way home, grabbed my high tech take-a-number ticket, waited about half an hour and walked out with my new DVR box. (They promised me my old box would be given a lovely new home in the country with fields and trees and other cable boxes to play with.)

The DVR is about twice as big as a dTV box, and much heavier, so it already had the perk of giving me an excuse not to go to the gym on the way home (it wouldn't fit in a locker). So I went straight home and set up my new toy and played for a bit. It worked really well and was pretty much the coolest thing ever.

Until around 11:15, when Joey froze in the middle on Monica's living room.

The new box looks a lot like my old one, so I figured it would reset the same way. It did, and I got my signal back, but none of the DVR features worked. All the timers I'd programmed in the guide were gone, and I couldn't access the "List" (where it shows the stuff you've recorded and all your timers and preferences) at all. So I called tech support, and felt really fortunate to be connected with a man who spoke English as his first language. Oh wait, no he didn't. He had me reset the box again, even though I told him I'd already done it. Then he had me kill the power, then he sent some sort of signal through the cable...basic things you'd do with any kind of electronics that aren't working. (I should point out that this thing came with no kind of instruction manual.) It was pretty clear that he was completely unfamiliar with the new technology and was just going through the motions of helping me. Finally he said, "I think something is wrong with that box."

"Oh, ya think?" I said, trying to keep a sense of humor but instead coming out extraordinarily bitchy. No matter, because English not being his first language, Tech Support Guy missed the sarcasm completely and said "Yes, I do. You have to go get a new one, or we can schedule a service call."

Well, I had TV plans for Sunday (catching all that stuff on Bravo I'd missed during the week, and the rerun of the PBS documentary on the building of the World Trade Center, which I'd also managed to forget was on), and while the box was able to tune channels it wasn't able to change channels magically the way regular cable boxes can (the DVR actually never does that, it just records things to its little hard drive) so I wouldn't be able to tape anything if I wanted to, you know, leave the house. Which I do sometimes. So I didn't want to wait for a service call and besides I really can't afford to take off work for this sort of thing. So I said I'd just swap the box out again.

Surprisingly, after snarking at the guy on the phone (it's not like it was his fault, but it pissed me off that he so clearly didn't know what he was talking about) I wasn't crabby at all. Boy had to get up early on Saturday so I got up with him and schlepped the DVR back in to Manhattan. After waiting 20 minutes for a 7 train (with no announcement as to why it was delayed), I had a fairly pleasant experience back at the cable place. I didn't have to wait long, I was helped by a very sweet woman who was very apologetic about the error

She got me a new box, and told me that you can only exchange a DVR box once. Apparently, because the technology is so new, if it doesn't work for you twice, chances are the problem isn't with the box, but with your cable set-up, so they need to send someone to the apartment to look at it. This was not a good sign.

I had much better train karma on the way home, arrived in time for my shows, and plugged in my new box.

Which didn't work. To make this process even more fun, it was a whole new kind of not working. Now I didn't have the guide or any program info or some of my channels. I called tech support again, and this time got a woman who did speak English, but was no more helpful, really. At one point she said, "Reset the box and tell me when the clock comes back up...wait, does it have a clock on it? I've never actually seen one of these." At least she was honest about it, but how hard would it be for the Powers That Be to show their staff a picture of the new and apparently highly buggy equipment they're giving the public?

Tech Support Lady said I needed a service call. I said screw that (only I said it more politely) and asked her to put a note in my account saying that I'd be back on 23rd Street in an hour or less to get my old digital box back. I'm sure by now it was starting to miss me. And clearly, my first instincts about TiVo were right. I was not meant to have it.

So, back in the shopping bag, back on the 7 train (brought a magazine this time!) and back to the counter for my high tech take-a-number ticket. 327. I walked over to the counter and saw, to my horror, that they were Now Serving 211. I scanned the room and saw masses of people, sitting on the floor, leaning on walls, every chair filled. Lots of them had dTV boxes, and I suspected they were all here for the DVR. They have a few computers hooked up to the internet, and 4 TVs with remotes in the waiting area, and people were starting to come to blows over them. I looked at my ticket again and saw the awful words, "Estimated wait time: 1:45." I almost started to cry. I went back to the front desk and explained that I was on my second DVR box in under 24 hours, I had already been here today, and I just wanted to switch back to digital, was there any way I could do that without waiting for another 2 hours? He told me to go to the "window" and ask for a supervisor. I turned around and realized the only window was the billing center, and all the tech people sat at a counter. I turned back to ask him which window he meant, and he was gone. Literally, vanished in to thin air. In his place was a mean-looking woman in a security guard's uniform. Near tears again.

So I just headed towards the billing people and got on line. A minute or so later, the woman at the end of the non-billing counter by where I was standing finished with her customer. I approached her meekly and told her that the man in the front had told me to come ask for a supervisor.

"Why," she asked, without looking up.

"Well," I said, trying to figure out how to be brief, "because I'm really pissed off."

Not the right approach. "Sir, everyone in this room is really pissed off about something. You're gonna have to wait."

Sass is perhaps not the best customer service approach, but it works for me, and I decided I liked this woman. That wasn't actually helping my situation, but I tried to stay calm. I've worked customer service jobs and know how much they suck, and I know that none of my problems were this woman's fault. Still, she had the power to fix them.

"I'm on my second DVR box since last night," I explained again. "I was already here this morning to get this one, which doesn't work either. I just want my old box back, please, and I don't think I should have to spend my entire day here to do it, since you guys keep giving me faulty equipment."

"Okay, wait over there," she said sweetly. Then, as soon as I had gone back towards the huddled masses, she yelled "212!"

Played! The bitch totally played me! I got back on the line for the billing people so I could ask for a supervisor. The woman (I'm gonna start calling her Wanda because she needs a name and kind of reminded me of Wanda Sykes) saw me there and said "You're just going to have to wait your turn."

"The guy in the front told me to see a supervisor," I said. "Are you a supervisor?"

"I'm one of the supervisors here, yes," she said.

Fuck.

"Look," I said, raising my voice just a little, and fighting back the urge to cry again. "This DVR thing does not work." I was banking on the fact that almost everyone in the room was waiting for their own DVRs, and thought if things got bad enough I could start yelling about how shitty the service is and cause some trouble. I wasn't there yet, but I was hoping she'd catch on. "I understand that I need to wait my turn, but I've already done that once today, and I really don't think it's fair for me to have to lose an entire day of my life because you guys fucked up!" I'd gotten louder and felt a little bad about cursing at her, so I pulled it back and said "Look, I know this isn't your fault so I don't mean to yell at you, but I'm really frustrated by this process."

"I didn't even take it that way, sir," Wanda sassed as she got up to get something for her other customer. I started to think that she didn't take anything any way, because she wasn't really listening to me at all.

I'd meandered off the line during that last monologue, and I decided to just stay where I was. I didn't want to make the new customer uncomfortable, so I hovered a few feet away from Wanda's desk, but clearly waiting for her and watching her. She came back and looked at me and said, again, that I'd have to wait, and then went back to #212. I started eavesdropping and heard Wanda trying to explain to 212 that the package she was offering her would cost 212 less money for more stuff, but 212 was convinced she was being scammed. My affinity for Wanda returned; She was clearly having a bad day.

Then, as if she'd read my thoughts, Wanda suddenly looked up at me, interrupted whatever 212 was going on about and said, "Wait, did you say you were already here today?" I knew it! She hadn't really been listening at all! Affinity gone, pissed now.

"Yes," I growled. "I was here last night, that box didn't work, and I was here again two hours ago, and now this box doesn't work."

"You were here today?" Wanda tried to confirm.

"Yes. Last time I checked, two hours ago would be part of today!"

"Oh. Give me a minute." Wanda finished with 212 (who never grasped the concept that Wanda was trying to help her), and she waved me over. You have no idea the relief I felt sitting in that chair. "Give me that," Wanda said, indicating my ticket. She looked at it, shook her head, and threw it away. My anger at the fact that she hadn't been listening to me before went away and didn't come back until I told this story to the Boy hours later. For now, I felt like we were in on something together.

Wanda was clearly having a bad day and her filter was off. "I was trying to help that woman," she said to me, "and she just wasn't getting it." Now I felt a little bad for being an asshole, but hey it had gotten me what I wanted. Well, I was still there, not home watching TV, so I thought it would pay to start being nice again.

"I know," I said, "I couldn't help overhearing. I don't envy you your job. You have to deal with morons like her and assholes like me all day."

She laughed. "I like my job," she said, "it's just crazy in here today. I think I just need to eat lunch." It was 2 or 3 o'clock now and I don't think Wanda's break was anywhere in sight.

Without really thinking about it, I said "Do you want me to bring you something when we're done?" Wanda looked at me like I was insane. "Seriously," I said, "you just let me cut over a hundred people. If we get all this straightened out I'll be happy to get you a sandwich." And I meant it too. It's not like you can tip most customer service reps, and even though it had taken a little ranting, I was really grateful to not be sitting on the floor for an hour and a half.

"I just need some sugar. I need cookies from Subway."

"Done," I said, and we got down to business. I told her the whole story again, and she apologized and turned in her chair to get up and get me a regular box. Then she turned back and looked at her screen again as she noticed what was wrong.

Apparently, they have different boxes for Manhattan and Queens. It seems I'd been given a Manhattan box earlier in the day. Wanda explained that the woman who'd helped me earlier in the day usually worked in Flushing, where they only carry Queens boxes (because why would anyone schlep all the way out to Flushing from Manhattan) so she must not have realized. The she said with a smirk, "Oh you need to go yell at her. And if you have any more problems, go on out to Flushing and see her."

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't bear the thought of going through all this again, but I also didn't want to leave empty-handed. Wanda and I had formed a bond, and I felt like I could trust her. "Look, tell me honestly," I said, "have you been seeing a lot of problems with the DVR?" She told me no, not like this. She said it was still new but most people seemed to be very happy with it. "Okay," I said, "I'll try one more time. But please make sure I get a brand new Queens box."

She got up and headed off, I assumed to get the unit. But then she came back with the woman who'd "helped" me earlier, who apologized profusely. I'll say this for these ladies, when they screw up they do try to make up for it. Wanda got me a new box, showed me the "Q" in the serial number that means it's programmed for Queens, and threw in an extra remote (I hadn't brought that back) "for your trouble."

I'm sure she thought she'd never see me again, but five minutes later I returned with six cookes -- 3 chocolate chip, and 3 white chocolate macadamia -- from the Subway down the block. I set them down on her desk without a word so as not to interrupt her new customer, who looked confused. Frankly Wanda looked confused to, and something else that might have been grateful but might also have been scared. I didn't wait around, anxious to see if this thing worked (and still have time to get back before they closed and swap it again if it didn't), but I hope she ate the cookies and wasn't afraid I'd poisoned them or something.

I've taken so long to blog about this mostly because I was afraid of the power in writing these words: Everything seems to be working fine now, and I love my new toy. I'll do an update on actually having it soon.

So what have we learned, kids?
1. You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, but sometimes flies are stupid. In which case a little vinegar goes a long, long way.
2. When you're mean to people, and then they're nice to you, get them cookies.
3. And if you're a Time Warner Cable customer in NYC, and you self-install DVR, make damn sure you get the right fucking box for your borough, and pray you don't have to call tech support.