Chapter 1: The Unfortunate Beginnings

I endured an agonizing seven hours wrestling with Verizon Wireless customer service, a trial that left me feeling irrevocably altered.

Admittedly, you might find it unnecessary to read this — recounting a customer service fiasco is akin to listening to someone narrate a tedious dream. However, I felt compelled to document my experience from this week, particularly since I informed Verizon's customer service via Twitter that I would be writing about it. I suspect they didn't take me seriously. So here I am.

Many of us likely share a similar story; I refuse to believe I'm unique in this regard. It seems that large corporations, holding us captive as their clients — providing our phones and internet — feign a commitment to "customer service," only for our efforts to culminate in utter frustration. If you're anything like me, the situation may even lead to tears. Meanwhile, they offer platitudes like, "I understand this must be frustrating for you."

To be fair, there are moments when I wonder if this is a unique plight of mine; my friends often imply that might be the case. Either they're hiding the truth about their own struggles, or there's something fundamentally wrong with me. Reflecting on my descent into the chaos that is Verizon Wireless customer support, I recognize there were moments where I could have done better or even turned back.

Nevertheless, this week required a staggering eight hours of my life spent on the phone with Verizon Wireless "Customer Support." It began innocently. Friends mentioned that I sounded robotic and distorted during calls. Assuming my iPhone 11 was failing, I decided to check on upgrading my device. I opened the chat feature and posed a straightforward question: "If I buy a new phone in the store, can someone assist me in transferring my data?"

Let's take a moment to reflect on this inquiry. It’s a simple question that warrants a yes or no response. Yet instead of addressing my concern, the chat representative, AG (whom I later learned the name and employee number of, which felt oddly invasive), replied with, "How are you today?"

At that moment, I should have simply said "fine" and moved on. Hindsight is 20/20, right? Instead, I responded with something like, "I don't have time to discuss my well-being; could you please answer my question?" Rather than addressing my query, AG replied, "You don't have time to answer how you are?"

Yes, AG, I do not have time. I juggle a full-time job, care for aging parents, and manage a hyperactive dog, leaving no room for idle chit-chat with a faceless representative. Somewhere, a consultant is probably laughing at the absurdity of businesses believing we want strangers to ask us how we’re doing.

I ended the chat, realizing AG would not provide the answer I sought. After rating the chat poorly, I was shocked to receive an email confirming an order for an iPhone 13 on my Dad's account (we share a family plan), costing a staggering $1026.61.

Panicked, I dialed "customer service." I explained the ridiculous chat, the unauthorized order, and requested it be canceled. "There's no order on your account," the first representative insisted. But I was staring at the receipt.

After being transferred through three departments, I finally managed to convince someone that an order had indeed been placed without my consent and needed to be canceled. This took nearly two hours, and in my frustration, I made a second mistake: I asked to speak to a manager.

I know, I know — this makes me sound like a Karen. However, the fact that a disgruntled customer service agent could place a $1,000 phone order for my father simply because I refused to engage in small talk was infuriating. As a 17-year customer of Verizon, I felt I deserved better. Yet, I soon learned that such feelings can lead one down a perilous path.

While requesting a manager, I also reached out to Verizon Wireless Support on Twitter to explain my ordeal and ask to speak to someone about the situation. Their response was dismissive; paraphrased, they said, "Your order is canceled; what else do you want?" I can't help but wonder what else they thought I might need after a rogue agent ordered a phone on my behalf without my knowledge, and it took me two hours to sort it out.

Meanwhile, my phone calls to customer service resulted in long holds: 45 minutes here, 30 minutes there. Each time I explained the issue, I was told I’d be transferred to the fraud department, only for the call to drop. Irony, anyone?

Eventually, I reached someone named Aryan who identified himself as a manager. I recounted my saga once more. Aryan assured me an investigation would take place and provided me with AG's name and employee ID number, which felt highly inappropriate. One would think employees expect some level of confidentiality, but apparently not.

Aryan inquired if I needed anything else, leading me to my next regrettable mistake. I said yes. I don't know what made me so naively optimistic, but I went deeper into the abyss.

"I'm told I sound robotic and distorted on calls, and I have only one bar of cellular coverage," I explained. Aryan claimed he could remedy that. We reset the network settings, but it was futile. Then Aryan initiated some sort of "MTR" reset on his end. He promised to text me in 15 minutes to check on my coverage and provided me with his direct extension. He also offered a $20 credit on my bill for the trouble, along with the assurance of a $500 credit if AG's fraudulent order affected my credit.

Finally, someone seemed to be helping me. I expressed my gratitude to Aryan, who commented, "At Verizon, there are two kinds of people: those who know what to do but choose not to help, and those who genuinely want to assist." Aryan claimed he was the latter. We disconnected the call, and I awaited the promised text.

Naturally, the text never arrived. Why would it? But I remained hopeful. When I attempted to call Aryan back using the number he provided, I was met with an alarming realization — my phone could no longer make any calls.

Let’s pause here. It was around 3 p.m. at this point. I had started the day with a simple inquiry about an upgrade, contemplating the color of my new phone. Now, hours later, I was unable to make calls. Luckily, I still had a landline (thanks, AT&T). I used it to contact Aryan at the number he had given me, only to discover that there was no option to enter an extension. When I finally reached a human, I explained my situation. "We don’t have extensions," the representative replied. She then transferred me to the fraud department, and the call dropped again.

The next few hours blurred together, filled with calls to tech support while I cried uncontrollably, my phone intermittently sending texts, and more network resets that proved futile. Turning my phone on and off did nothing. Someone suggested removing the SIM card, but I refused. It became evident that no one had a clue what they were doing.

I grew paranoid. If AG had ordered an unwanted phone because I wouldn’t engage in small talk, was it possible other Verizon employees had terminated my service out of spite? By hour five, I found myself screaming in frustration.

Enter Kathleen — a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. She truly deserves a raise, if not the title of CEO of Verizon. Kathleen reassured me that my service remained active and confirmed my deep-seated paranoia. She wanted to assist but needed to verify my account by sending a text message.

Yet again, the text failed to arrive. She sent it multiple times, but it never came through. "I can’t help you if I can’t verify your account," she lamented. I pleaded for an alternative solution, but she remained firm. Desperate, I resorted to lying. I told her I had left my child at school, and no one had picked him up because of my ongoing battle.

I don’t have children, but I knew that the "forgotten child" card would work. And it did. Kathleen managed to find a workaround to verify my account and helped me set up Wi-Fi calling. Although my cellular service remained unreliable, I could make calls again.

As I drove my dog Fish to agility class, I discovered I couldn't stream music. Frustrated, I called back. Despite my exhaustion, I felt a surge of energy, rage propelling me forward. I reached tech support and demanded to be transferred to Tier 2 (I know these terms now), ultimately speaking with a kind man named Ron.

"Ron," I said with an eerie calmness, "were there any coverage issues in Los Angeles recently?" Yes, indeed, Ron confirmed — there were several outages that could definitely explain my cellular problems. In fact, he noted that had I spoken to him earlier, he would have skipped the troubleshooting steps altogether, as they would have been pointless.

Kathleen and Ron — hidden gems buried within the depths of Verizon’s service. You have to shout and fight your way to reach support staff like them; they’re like finding a rare tile at Home Depot.

Exhausted, Fish and I arrived at agility class, where he bounded around with boundless energy. It was a relief. Yet, I made the mistake of checking my phone afterward and found a message from Verizon Wireless Customer Service on Twitter — did I still need assistance? I laughed to myself.

Why not tell them I did? I had already squandered seven hours of my life on this ordeal. Maybe there was a Kathleen or a Ron lurking behind their Twitter support.

Spoiler alert: there was no Kathleen or Ron on Verizon Wireless Twitter Support. I won’t drag you through the minutiae of my nighttime interaction with them. Highlights included their insistence that I explain my problem again (which problem, Verizon? The fraudulent order? The hours spent convincing you it existed? My inability to make calls? My failure to communicate with the fraud department?). They also claimed I had declined all troubleshooting steps, which was an outright lie. What did they think I was doing during those five hours on the phone?

The cherry on top was their inquiry about whether I wanted to cancel an order. An order that had supposedly been canceled earlier that day. That was when I finally snapped. I thought I had lost it earlier, but if you have to question whether you've lost your temper, you probably haven't. By the time they asked about canceling an order — at 9 p.m. — I definitively snapped and told them to go away and not contact me again.

I went to bed that night, feeling ashamed of my behavior, contemplating my role in this chaos. I should have simply engaged with the chat representative and pretended to be having a good day. I should never have requested to speak to a manager about the fraudulent order. I should have avoided tech support altogether, which only exacerbated the situation. I had flown too close to the sun. I questioned whether such absurdities only happened to me.

The next morning, I awoke weary, humbled, and ready to move on. Checking my phone, I found a text message from Verizon asking me to confirm the details of my recent order for an iPhone 13.

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