Cuckoo. Really. Sprint.

Maybe some of you remember my blog about dealing with bureaucratic craziness. I wrote about my three-year battle about a 72 cent credit I had with Sprint (which has become my four-year battle about a 72 cent credit with Sprint). Stay tuned for . . . ah, more. Read on to Post #3!

Here are my old posts, to refresh your memory:

Post #1:  Yes, frustration. That's what you get when you deal with bureaucratic craziness. Here's my latest example: I used to have a cell phone contract with Sprint. Yes, I'm naming the carrier. Probably not a good idea. Definitely poor taste. But, whatever. Anyway, I used to have a cell phone contract with Sprint, as I said. That was three years ago. I didn't mind Sprint. I was reasonably happy with Sprint. But, we found a better plan and changed to it. It was with a different company. A company that is not Sprint. Another decent company not much better and not altogether worse. Whatever. However, lately, I have begun to hate Sprint. Detest Sprint. Have horrible dreams about Sprint. Why? Sprint is a prime example of bureaucratic craziness.

It seems I overpaid the last payment of my last Sprint bill by 72 cents. Yes, that's right, 72 cents. So, Sprint dutifully sent me a statement informing me that I had a credit of 72 cents. I called them and told them that I am no longer a customer and therefore, would never be in need of my 72 cent credit. Could they send me a check for 72 cents? No, Ma'am, they couldn't. They can't cut checks for less than a dollar. Well, then, I said, just keep the 72 cents. No, Ma'am, they couldn't do that either. Accounting controls. Well, what should we do? Did they want me to send them 28 cents so they could cut me a $1 check? No, since I was no longer a customer, there was no way to pay into my account. 

X*&!#Z!

So, what happened? For the last three years, I have received a monthly statement from Sprint telling me that I have a 72 cent credit with them. I've called them several more times and had repeats of the above conversation with different representatives.

Grrrrrr.

So, if Sprint goes bankrupt because they have had to send me a hundreds of statements in the mail, each with 42 cents worth of postage, and have had to buy the paper to print those statements and have had to hire the people to process those statements and to keep track of my account that is closed . . . well, don't blame me. I tried.

Post #2:  August, 2013 – Thrilling update: In Milwaukee, I moved from a suburban condo to a downtown condo. I dutifully filled out change-of-address forms for my contacts because, as the post office warned, mail is only forwarded for six months. No exceptions. An evil grin broke out on my face as this awareness settled into my marrow. I could move and not let Sprint know about it. I could move and, eventually, the mail forwarding would stop, and I’d be . . . FREE from Sprint!

I carried out my plan, merrily tossing the Sprint statements that were forwarded. It wouldn’t be long, I knew, before those statements wouldn’t know where to find me. 

After six months of getting statements –nothing. No Sprint statements! Could it be true? I had champagne. I had caviar. I booked an around-the-world cruise. (Just kidding about that last one.)

Then, the nightmare ensued. They found me. I don’t know how, but they did. Today, when I got my mail, there it was, like a gremlin – the danged Sprint statement, addressed to me at my NEW address.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

I considered banging my head in frustration on the mailbox, but thought better of it. (Violence never changes anything.) Perhaps, I could contact my Sprint people one more time and plead my case . . . again.

After being transferred from person to person for fifteen minutes because I hadn’t been a customer for four years (ah, yeah), I finally landed with a sane Sprint customer service representative. When she heard my story she burst out laughing. 

“Please,” I pleaded. “Can we fix this?”

She hesitated and I braced myself for the usual replies, but then she said. “Of course. This is crazy. You’ve received 51 statements about your 72 cent credit.” She didn’t know how the statements made it to my new address but told me I could expect a check for 72 cents within three days.

The clouds broke up and the sun shone brighter. Birds sang (or were those angels?) and I felt a thousand-pound weight lift off of my shoulders. Sprint would no longer be sending me 72 cent credit statements. Never ever again.

I hung up the phone and dabbed away the tears as I realized I had finally succeeded in breaking up with my phone carrier.

About time. 

Do you think I'll get multiple 72-cent checks?

Post #3:  October, 2013

I GOT ANOTHER DANGED STATEMENT WITH . . . no, not a 72-cent credit.  How could you be so silly.  Why on earth would they send me a 72-cent credit after they realized how nutty they have been for the last almost four years?  No, I did not receive a 72-cent credit.  Yes, breathe deeply.  That part got fixed. 

Now, listen up.

I received a 79-cent credit!  I am not kidding.  I am actually earning money here.

Seriously, what can I do?  Does anyone have Sprint stock?  If so, I’m so sorry to be ruining your retirement savings account.  Does anyone know a smart, sane Sprint employee?  If so, please let him or her know that they need to quit working for such a cuckoo place.  But, first, before they quit, please please please have them wipe me out of the Sprint system . . . before I lose my mind.

Cray Cray

Cray Cray II

 



Maybe some of you remember my blog about dealing with bureaucratic craziness. I wrote about my three-year battle about a 72 cent credit I had with Sprint (which has become my four-year battle about a 72 cent credit with Sprint). Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion! 

Here is my old post, to refresh your memory: Yes, frustration. That's what you get when you deal with bureaucratic craziness. Here's my latest example: I used to have a cell phone contract with Sprint. Yes, I'm naming the carrier. Probably not a good idea. Definitely poor taste. But, whatever. Anyway, I used to have a cell phone contract with Sprint, as I said. That was three years ago. I didn't mind Sprint. I was reasonably happy with Sprint. But, we found a better plan and changed to it. It was with a different company. A company that is not Sprint. Another decent company not much better and not altogether worse. Whatever. However, lately, I have begun to hate Sprint. Detest Sprint. Have horrible dreams about Sprint. Why? Sprint is a prime example of bureaucratic craziness.
 

It seems I overpaid the last payment of my last Sprint bill by 72 cents. Yes, that's right, 72 cents. So, Sprint dutifully sent me a statement informing me that I had a credit of 72 cents. I called them and told them that I am no longer a customer and therefore, would never be in need of my 72 cent credit. Could they send me a check for 72 cents? No, Ma'am, they couldn't. They can't cut checks for less than a dollar. Well, then, I said, just keep the 72 cents. No, Ma'am, they couldn't do that either. Accounting controls. Well, what should we do? Did they want me to send them 28 cents so they could cut me a $1 check? No, since I was no longer a customer, there was no way to pay into my account.  

X*&!#Z! 

So, what happened? For the last three years, I have received a monthly statement from Sprint telling me that I have a 72 cent credit with them. I've called them several more times and had repeats of the above conversation with different representatives. 

Grrrrrr. 

So, if Sprint goes bankrupt because they have had to send me a hundreds of statements in the mail, each with 42 cents worth of postage, and have had to buy the paper to print those statements and have had to hire the people to process those statements and to keep track of my account that is closed . . . well, don't blame me. I tried. 

August, 2013 – Thrilling update: In Milwaukee, I moved from a suburban condo to a downtown condo. I dutifully filled out change-of-address forms for my contacts because, as the post office warned, mail is only forwarded for six months. No exceptions. An evil grin broke out on my face as this awareness settled into my marrow. I could move and not let Sprint know about it. I could move and, eventually, the mail forwarding would stop, and I’d be . . . FREE from Sprint! 

I carried out my plan, merrily tossing the Sprint statements that were forwarded. It wouldn’t be long, I knew, before those statements wouldn’t know where to find me.  

After six months of getting statements –nothing. No Sprint statements! Could it be true? I had champagne. I had caviar. I booked an around-the-world cruise. (Just kidding about that last one.) 

Then, the nightmare ensued. They found me. I don’t know how, but they did. Today, when I got my mail, there it was, like a gremlin – the danged Sprint statement, addressed to me at my NEW address. 

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! 

I considered banging my head in frustration on the mailbox, but thought better of it. (Violence never changes anything.) Perhaps, I could contact my Sprint people one more time and plead my case . . . again. 

After being transferred from person to person for fifteen minutes because I hadn’t been a customer for four years (ah, yeah), I finally landed with a sane Sprint customer service representative. When she heard my story she burst out laughing.  

“Please,” I pleaded. “Can we fix this?” 

She hesitated and I braced myself for the usual replies, but then she said. “Of course. This is crazy. You’ve received 51 statements about your 72 cent credit.” She didn’t know how the statements made it to my new address but told me I could expect a check for 72 cents within three days. 

The clouds broke up and the sun shone brighter. Birds sang (or were those angels?) and I felt a thousand-pound weight lift off of my shoulders. Sprint would no longer be sending me 72 cent credit statements. Never ever again. 

I hung up the phone and dabbed away the tears as I realized I had finally succeeded in breaking up with my phone carrier. 

About time.  

Do you think I'll get multiple 72-cent checks?

Exhausted Workforce

Warning:  This post has no suggestions for solutions.  It is full of observations, some of which might make you cranky.

A recent New York Times article about gender inequality cited various statistics comparing the United States' workplace policies and practices to roughly 190 other countries of similar economic and political development.  The results were heartbreaking, but did help to explain why so many people feel like the cartoon man in the above picture -- exhausted and overwhelmed at work.

According to the article, the United States places "dead last" as far as family-work policies and ranked among the very highest in the hours most employers required their average employees to work.  Many Americans now clock 50 or more hours per week at work, far more than any other industrialized country, including Japan.  Add to this the increasingly-popular practice of hiring young people as "interns," for no wages, and we've certainly got a workforce crisis in the making.

There's a myth that the United States is the most progressive place around, that we are the world's leader, the most-progressive of the progressive.  This article is one of many that challenge that myth.  The question, of course, is:  What can we do about it?

The lengthly article discussed much more than the increase in work hours.  Click here to read the article for yourself:  NY Times Article

Techli and me . . .

Now, not many of you would think of me as a techie, but, believe it or not, I was a guest blogger yesterday on Techli, a wonderful technology blog.  My post?  CEO Sundays: Why Communication Needs to Be a Part of the Science.  So, all of you whiz-brained geniuses out there, give this little missive a gander, and let me know what you think.

To read my Techli guest post, click here:  Science and Communication

 

 

 

 

Coins on top or bottom?

What's wrong with this picture?  Isn't it obvious?  The cashier has given you back your change with the coins on top method.  Now the coins are going to slide all over the place, maybe even land on the floor.  And, if  you're lucky, same cashier will top this whole debacle off with the receipt, which you'll stash in your mouth for safekeeping while you deal with the rolling coins and eventually get a chance to tuck the all-important bills into your wallet.  Grrrrrrr.

 Now, take a look at this picture.  Doesn't your blood pressure go down?  How calming and reasonable to have the cashier give you back your change with the coins on bottom method.  You slip the bills into your wallet, put the coins in your pocket or change purse, and all is well.  Perhaps, the cashier has even nicely counted your change back to you -- coins first -- and you are certain you've gotten back the correct amount.  Maybe you even feel so good about this transaction that you take your handful of coins and deposit them in the cashier's tip jar!

 

It's obvious which method I prefer.  Lately, the coins-on-top thing has become a pet peeve of mine.  But, I've heard various defenses for the coins on top method -- mainly, that the cash register shows the change as dollars first, coins second, and so cashiers grab the change that is shown and put it into your hand . . . also as it is shown, with coins on top.  They don't count back to you because they don't know how or were trained not to.  I've also heard that cashiers use the coins on top method because they don't want to touch germy hands and so put the bills (sanitary as they are) into your hand first, then drop the coins on top to avoid actual skin-to-skin contact. 

 

We won't even begin to talk about putting the receipt on top of everything because this issue is complicated enough.  But, please do tell which you prefer.  Are you a coins on top or a coins on bottom kind of customer?  And, if you're a cashier, what is your method of change delivery?

 

 

Just Say No to Body Scanning

Who doesn’t hate the rigmarole of airport security, or, as the New York Times recently dubbed it, “Security Theater?”  
 
Take off your shoes and put them in the bin (or on the belt, depending on the airport): take off your belt; take off your jacket; pick through your purse to find the mini bottle of lotion and your lipstick and mascara and squirrel them away in a plastic sandwich baggie; put your laptop in a separate bin; put your keys and change into the little bowl; throw your carry-on onto the conveyor belt; walk your bare feet over thousands of germs; throw away your half-finished water bottle; be prepared to have your small jar of peanut butter confiscated . . . and walk through the . . . 

WAIT!

Don’t do it.  Do not walk through the body scanner.  You do not have to.  They cannot make you.  And it may be dangerous for your health to do so.

Irritating compliance with ridiculous rules aside, this last step in the security process is downright wrong.

There are two kinds of body scanners in airports across the country – those that use x-ray technology and those that use millimeter wave technology (and, according to a recent New York Times article, millimeter wave machines DO emit radiation, albeit less radiation than the x-ray scanners).  For decades, health care practitioners have cautioned against exposure to unnecessary x-rays.  You even get a little lead-apron to wear when you have to have dental x-rays.  So, why is it now okay to expose thousands of travelers to unnecessary radiation all for the sake of “security?”  Even if those levels are labeled “low” and “safe,” why risk it?  

European, American and Australian studies are mixed about the safety of body scanners.  Plainly, they are just too new to have accurate long-term data about their safety.  In fact, TSA has just recently admitted that the x-ray scanners are probably not safe and are pulling them from many airports in favor of the millimeter scanners (the ones with the “low” radiation).  But, why is low radiation considered safe?  What about people who travel frequently and are exposed often to this “safe” radiation?  Logic would have it that even the millimeter scanners may not be the best for people’s health.

Recently, I flew out of O’Hare and faced the usual ordeal of Security Theater.  Instead of encountering the ire of security staff when I opted out of going through the scanner (they then have to do a pat down instead), I actually got sympathy from the TSA workers.  The first person I had to deal with told me, “I don’t blame you.  I won’t go through those things either.”  The second person, the woman who was assigned to do my pat down said, “Have you done this before?”  When I nodded, she said.  “Yeah, I bypass all the time myself.”

So, go ahead and exert your right not to be scanned.  Opt for the pat down, even if it takes a little longer and isn’t exactly the most pleasant experience in the world.  If entire lines of passengers refuse to be corralled through the scanner, perhaps TSA will come up with saner – and safer – methods of ensuring security.  

Considering how few terrorists are caught, despite Security Theater, isn’t it unconscionable to expose thousands of travelers to health-damaging radiation – “just in case?”

 

 

Cray Cray

Yes, frustration.  That's what you get when you deal with bureaucratic craziness.  Here's my latest example:  I used to have a cell phone contract with Sprint.  Yes, I'm naming the carrier.  Probably not a good idea.  Definitely poor taste.  But, whatever.  Anyway, I used to have a cell phone contract with Sprint, as I said.  That was three years ago.  I didn't mind Sprint.  I was reasonably happy with Sprint.  But, we found a better plan and changed to it.  It was with a different company.  A company that is not Sprint.  Another decent company not much better and not altogether worse.  Whatever.  However, lately, I have begun to hate Sprint.  Detest Sprint.  Have horrible dreams about Sprint.  Why?  Sprint is a prime example of bureaucratic craziness. 

It seems I overpaid the last payment of my last Sprint bill by 72 cents.  Yes, that's right, 72 cents.  So, Sprint dutifully sent me a statement informing me that I had a credit of 72 cents.  I called them and told them that I am no longer a customer and therefore, would never be in need of my 72 cent credit.  Could they send me a check for 72 cents?  No, Ma'am, they couldn't.  They can't cut checks for less than a dollar.  Well, then, I said, just keep the 72 cents.  No, Ma'am, they couldn't do that either.  Accounting controls.  Well, what should we do?  Did they want me to send them 28 cents so they could cut me a $1 check?  No, since I was no longer a customer, there was no way to pay into my account. 

 

X*&!#Z!

 

So, what happened?  For the last three years, I have received a monthly statement from Sprint telling me that I have a 72 cent credit with them.  I've called them several more times and had repeats of the above conversation with different representatives.

 

Grrrrrr

 

 

So, if Sprint goes bankrupt because they have had to send me a hundreds of statements in the mail, each with 42 cents worth of postage, and have had to buy the paper to print those statements and have had to hire the people to process those statements and to keep track of my account that is closed . . . well, don't blame me.  I tried.

 

Do you have a frustrating story about bureaucratic craziness?  Do tell!