WESTMINSTER — On March 1, I came across a FairPoint truck blocking my driveway, the technician in his little bucket lift messing with the box on the pole there.
“What's up?” I asked him.
“We're hooking up one of your neighbors, farther up the hill,” he told me. “I'll be right down and get out of your way.”
“Take your time,” I told him. “I have to get all this ice off the car anyway.”
I had chosen FairPoint for my Internet connection after trying to go through Comcast and having to talk to people on the other side of the world through connections that broke up as we spoke, the pauses and sputters making it almost impossible to understand their already-poor English.
I knew FairPoint wasn't as sophisticated at Comcast but it would be local service, one where I could talk to customer service reps without a struggle, with people that would feel more neighborly.
When I finally pulled out of my driveway, I didn't think anything more about the new connection up the road. At least not then.
It didn't come back to me until the next day when my Internet didn't work. I called FairPoint, and they said they'd send a technician out. That was a Saturday, so of course nothing happened until Monday.
And even then they didn't call me - I called them.
They told me a technician would be out on Tuesday, so I took the day off from my job and stayed home all day, but to no avail.
Finally, toward the end of the day, I called them again.
“The problem is congestion on your line. We're going to have to install new equipment,” a representative told me. “It will take a couple weeks, but you'll be really glad afterwards - you'll find things will be so much faster!”
I tried to go along with the enthusiasm, but my ability to feel optimistic about something that far in the future was difficult. Still, I waited.
* * *
When the fix date of March 19 came and went without any fix, or any word from FairPoint, I called again.
This time, a representative told me they'd have it fixed in 48 to 72 hours, and when I got home there was a message on my answering machine from the field technicians saying they'd be at my house between noon and 5 p.m. that Friday, and if this would not be convenient to call them.
So I called. After all, I didn't want to lose more work time. “No problem,” said Matthew at tech support, “we can have them come after 5. I'll put that note in the computer for them.”
It turns out that tech support isn't able to talk to the technicians that come out and do the actual work. All their communication is done by notes in a computer. And I've come to believe that the field technicians don't always read those notes.
My first clue was when, after they didn't show up on Friday after work and I called, Denise at tech support told me that they'd been there but the note in the computer said that I hadn't responded to their afternoon appointment.
Denise was sympathetic, unlike some of the tech support people who tended to stop replying when my complaints went beyond a sentence or two. Neither of us could decide whether that meant they had tried to call or had actually come to my door.
She told me they'd have to set up another appointment, which would probably be the next day, a Saturday.
* * *
On Saturday, I had errands to run, so I called them in the morning to see what they had planned for me. I spoke to Candace, who was actually so helpful that she tried to fix my problem by having me try a few things on my own. They didn't work, but I was grateful for her attempts.
She told me the technician would be out the next day, Sunday. She couldn't give me a time, but said he'd be there.
* * *
So on Sunday I stayed home all day, sitting by the phone, almost afraid to go out to the shed to bring in an armload of wood for fear I'd miss the call. But no call came. No truck came. No FairPoint field technician showed up with a smile on his face and a wrench in his hand.
Around 5:30, I called again.
This time I talked to Aaron, who told me there were no orders in the computer saying anyone would be out that day and that I shouldn't expect workers on Sundays. He couldn't find records of my previous conversations with tech support.
I decided he was an idiot, then hung up and called back. This time I got Josh, who found all the previous computer records and orders and conversations. He said that they still might show up - they worked until 6 p.m.
“It's five past six right now,” I told him.
He sounded a little confused. “Let's see, it's 5 o'clock Central time, I think, but is Eastern time later?”
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Arizona,” he told me.
That was my first inkling that I wasn't talking to someone in New England. I should have figured it out long before that, what with my never getting the same person on the line and their inability to communicate with the field technicians other than through the computer.
Josh said he would put a note into the computer that the job order had not occurred. He couldn't give me another appointment, though; that had to come from the field technicians.
I called again on Monday morning, and this time it was Jimmy from Texas. He said there was still an open order in the computer but the field technicians would have to contact me to schedule an appointment. I could see the whole cycle starting again.
And what was this whole deal with Arizona? With Texas? Hadn't my initial decision been based on finding a local provider to do business with?
It's time to rethink.