Short People got Nobody

I said a while ago that I have a habit of making the mundane very dramatic, which is basically why I carry on this blog. Yesterday, I talked about slipping on ice in such terms that it seemed like I was a hop, skip, and a jump away from breaking my neck, or that this is something that should be a national problem. Which is probably why I got a frantic phone call from my mom yesterday afternoon.

I alluded to the current DHL problem on my hands (or, from where I’m sitting, not on my hands): namely, that my computer is at one of their “facilities,” (it’s in quotations because the word implies “facility,” which is synonymous with “ability,” which they have none of, and uh, SERVICE, which I’m not getting) and I can’t get my hands on it. They tried their obligatory 2-time delivery spiel, then left me high and dry with a delivery notice telling me I should call them to get my stuff.

Which I’ve been trying to do for, oh, a whole week now, but whenever I call it is either busy, rings forever without an answering service, or someone answers and immediately says “Hello, please hold.” Today, I was on hold for a solid hour with my zip code branch before I had to hang up because I had to go to class, yesterday was about 20 minutes, last week half and hour. When I called the 1-800 number to talk to a representative, he told me I was probably on hold because I didn’t have my tracking number with me, and he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that I never got the chance to TELL them my packing number BECAUSE NO ONE WANTED TO TALK TO ME. And I had to walk around with a cheesy version of Vivaldi’s Spring stuck in my head, with an accommodating and able lady’s voice telling me how DHL is connecting the world.

While on the phone I multitasked and I wrote an email to DHL telling them about their really crappy service, likening the “on hold” experience to something as long and as painful as what I imagine it’s like giving birth for the first time, and that I was going to stay on the phone for as long as it took to give me DHL a piece of my mind. Clearly, that didn’t happen, since as it’s going to be getting an education that will allow me to have a few servants who will do this for me in the future. It was a little hard to detach the melted cell phone from my ear, but no harder than massaging out the cramp in my neck and shoulders from shrugging the phone to my ear for a full hour.

The reply I got back from DHL involved 4 different modes of apology, including “It is a candid feedback such as yours that helps us find new ways to improve our service.” With no future plan of action outlined for me. No promises of giving me their first born, no free computer, no firing of all the employees at the 60637 branch who, for all I know, might be using my computer to hammer in posters of scantily clad women onto walls, to hide drugs in, or to use as a food tray to eat chips off of while they’re watching Oprah. They are, in effect, saying, “That sucks, man. Want a fry?”

So today, I am dedicating this to all the little people out there like me who are sick of being ignored by the Big Man. I hear you all.