This Call May Be Recorded for Quality Assurance Purposes

(or in case they bring back The Twilight Zone)

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You’ve heard a lot of stories about maddening calls to tech support centers. Now, you’re going to hear another one. You have not heard this one before. I am confident of this.

This morning I called for assistance with a movie editing program. I wanted my two computers synced so that the video I am editing will appear on both computers in editable form. If I cut out one second of music on my laptop video, I want that to occur on my desktop video as well. I tried the usual methods: iCloud, Air Drop, thumb drives, etc. No luck. I called the support number. They asked for my SSN, birthdate, serial number of both computers, pantyhose size–the usual. Then, they informed me they only handled billing issues. We scheduled a call-back from a “creative specialist.” Rob called at 8:30 as promised. Nice voice, easy to understand, most likely domestic. He sounded friendly, too. Off to a good start.

One hour later, Rob and I had tried a lot of syncing techniques. There is that brief moment when you are a little happy that the expert is puzzled; it shows you aren’t a complete dweeb on the computer. Then, you move on to “Uh oh, this guy is as befuddled as I am.”

Rob finally asked to access my screen. First, he saw my screen display–a cute photo of Vera and Dave in their rocking chair. He said, “Oh, beautiful cats! I just lost my cat.” I consoled him. We continued trying more little tricks. Nothing. Everything on my two computers was in sync except this one program. Eventually, we took a circuitous route and ended up on a site that informed us that this program is no longer syncable. Still, Rob did not give up. He put me on hold to find out if anyone else at the center had any suggestions. He returned to the phone and said no one did. This is when the call took a turn.

Rob told me he had wanted to check with his colleagues because he’d been gone 5 months and might have missed something. This was his first week back. Then, silence. Not the “we got cut off” kind of silence.

            “I lost my wife 5 months ago,” he said. I offered my sympathies. Poor man had lost his wife and his cat. Rob told me about the truly tragic accident he had happened upon. He needed to talk. After a bit, I said I understood as much as one could, because I, too, had lost my spouse. He was very interested. I asked how long he had been married. I figured most techies at call centers are 30-ish. Rob had been married 46 years. Oddly enough, I told him, I too had been married 46 years. For another half hour, Rob shared his loneliness and asked me lots of questions about recovering. At this point, my call for computer support had totally morphed into bereavement counseling. Then, we entered the confessional phase. Rob wants to start dating. I told him about how many hospice husbands came back to visit, sheepishly telling us they were dating or even getting married after a few months. I assured him there are no rules, that life is for the living. He seemed relieved.

No, my friends, this is not a potential aging Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks movie in the making. No, no, nooooo. We said our goodbyes, and I stared at the phone. Surely I had imagined providing grief support to someone in a call center.

Wouldn’t you love to be there if they actually listen to that call for Quality Assurance purposes?