I Got SERVED.

In the last few weeks, I've felt exponentially more optimistic about life in general. Maybe it was finally getting enough sleep. Maybe it was the Girl Scout Cookies. Maybe it was the discovery of a K-Cup I can finally love. Maybe - maybe - it had something to do with the meds that balanced my brain chemistry so I didn't feel *quite* so much like lying on the couch until I starved to death. WHO CAN SAY?

The point is, I was flying way too close to the sun, so I did the only reasonable thing I could do. The only thing that would bring me back down to the level of abject misery on which the rest of the country lives 24/7. I did the thing...that could irretrievably destroy a good mood.

I called Customer Service.

I love Customer Service. I love everything about it. I love the dystopic sound of a robot on the verge of tears as it starts every sentence with "I'm sorry..."! I love the even more dystopic sound of the human being who finally picks up where the robot left off, terrified, knowing I'm already seething as she reads from a script that requires her to thank me for literally everything I do or say in the course of our conversation! But the thing I love most is that the end of a Customer Service call is never really "Goodbye", but merely, "I'll call you right back, even more pissed than I already am, since you've routed me to this dead-end and refuse to fix my problem". 

It all started when I decided to switch from AT&T to Comcast, because I wanted faster internet, and Comcast could give me that *plus* a more useful cable connection for less! Wonderful! I signed up online, which was super great, because who's gonna give me better customer service than ME? Nobody, that's who! And I can prove it! The process of finalizing my order with Comcast involved a quick little live chat with a New Account Specialist Or Whatever. He informed me that my number could be ported, but not yet, because AT&T needed to "release" it. I was assigned a temporary interim number, to be replaced with the old one once it was free. So I called AT&T!

Here's what you experience when you talk to the AT&T Robot:

ROBOT: Thank you for calling AT&T! I see you're calling from [your phone number, read out in a slow voice that takes only ten short minutes of your life]! Is that the number associated with the account you are calling about?

ME: YES

ROBOT: Great! Now can you tell me, in a few words, what it is you're calling about today?

ME: I NEED TO-

ROBOT: You can say "I want to sign up for U-Verse TV" or "I'd like to order another U-Verse box"

ME: (muttering to myself) Really? Can I also tell you where you can shove U-Verse?

ROBOT: It sounds like you're calling to set up U-Verse! Is that correct?

ME: NO!

ROBOT: (long pause) Now can you tell me, in a few words, what it is you're calling about today?

ME: I NEED TO GET-

ROBOT: You can say "I need technical support" or "I'd like more information on U-Verse"

ME: I NEED TO GET MY NUMBER RELEASED FOR PORTING

ROBOT: Hang on while I get more information... It looks like AT&T just received a payment from you! Would you like to hear the details of this payment?

ED NOTE: This is by far the dumbest part of the whole stupid spiel. Obviously they've done this because most people are calling about their bills(?) but if you're going to assume that's why I'm calling, WHY DID I HAVE TO TELL YOU WHY I'M CALLING? Also, I don't know what the rest of you people are doing, but when I make a payment, I already know the details of that payment. Because I made it. I don't need it read to me. I'd also like to point out that in two days, I called AT&T FIVE TIMES, and I got to hear the "recent payment" crap EVERY SINGLE TIME. 

So when the robot first passed me to a person, I told her what I needed and she gave me a different number to call. She conveyed the number with an air of authority and unshakeable confidence, so it never crossed my mind that this might not be the right number. I thanked her, hung up, and called the number. I'd provide a transcript here, but I can't. Because the robot at that number only spoke Spanish. I let it run through its options, waiting for the English equivalent of the standard "Para Español, marque el numero dos!" message. Nothin'. So I hung up and, figuring I had misdialed, tried again. Same result. I began to wonder if the friendly AT&T lady had somehow gotten the impression that I spoke Spanish, despite my accent-free English in our entirely English-language exchange. Finally I gave up and called the standard AT&T Robot back. We went through the same song-and-dance as before, in which he read me my phone number in the same amount of time it took to build the pyramids, asked what I wanted twice, didn't know what the hell I was talking about, offered to read my last payment aloud to me, and finally offered to hand me off to a human being. When the AT&T Robot picked up this call, it was 5:57pm. By the time he offered to hand me to a human, it was 6:01, and instead of hearing a human, I heard the Robot saying, "We're sorry, this office is closed for the day. Please try again tomorrow." 

So I did. I tried again the next day. I let him pat himself on the back for knowing my number, I yelled gibberish at him when he asked what I needed (makes no difference to him!), he told me I had recently paid an obscene amount of money for this crappy service as if this information might come as a surprise to me, then connected me to a person. I told this person that I needed my number liberated for porting. She said, "Please hold while I connect you". There was a click. Silence. Another click. Silence. Click. Hold music. Click. Silence. Click. 

ROBOT: Thank you for calling AT&T! I see you are calling from...

So we did it AGAIN, with me now screaming unintelligibly at the Robot, who moved unperturbed through his script, not registering my bloodboiling rage because why would he? He hasn't listened to a word I've said EVER! This time, when the human picked up, I was ready. "DON'T HANG UP!," I yelled before she could speak, like a kidnap victim who's finally gotten through to an ex-friend who is now her only hope of rescue. I explained my request once more, but this time I added, "I have talked to your robot four times, but he DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO HELP ME! And the last lady I talked to just gave me back to the robot. Please. Please. I don't want to talk to the robot again." (Yes, I literally said this. That is how crazy Customer Service makes me.)

Fortunately, this nice lady was able to help me, insofar as she could tell me that the number is free for porting, and Comcast has their info screwed up. In other words: Call Customer Service! And I will. As soon as I get approval to quadruple my psych meds. 

This "V" Sign is for Venza!

It's been a while since I've done an in-depth advertising analysis, and I know y'all are just too shy to ask for one, so HERE I AM. The thing is, though...I don't honestly know if this one is a FAIL or a WIN. Let's take a look at the new series of commercials for the Toyota Venza. I've seen 4 of them so far:
- the one with the girl who moves across the country and "can't imagine what her parents are doing without her"
- the one with the girl who (HILARIOUSLY) judges everyone's quality of life by the number of Facebook friends they have. (HILARIOUS! Because Facebook "friends" aren't the same as real friends, and NO ONE HAS EVER MADE THAT OBSERVATION BEFORE! HAAAAA HA HA HA HA!)
- the one with the girl who worries that, when her parents don't answer her calls, it means they are injured/unable to get to the phone
- the one with the guy who moves back home "because he's worried about his parents" and comments on how sad, boring, and lonely their lives are

So it's the same basic formula every time:
Hipster 20-something kid finds parents' existence to be pathetically boring; parents are out having a blast, unbeknownst to hipster 20-something kid.

HOO BOY THOSE STUPID HIPSTERS SURE DO HAVE EGG ON THEIR FACE, NO?

Well, no, actually. And I'll tell you why, primarily using the example of the guy who moved back home. Here's the ad, for your reference:


Everybody put your parsin' pants on...

After college I moved back in with my parents. I was worried about 'em, you know?
The Toyota people want you to think, "Here's a self-important kid who thinks his parents can't live without him! What a little snot!" But if you're an American who graduated from college any time in the last ten years, as I did, you're more likely to think, "Aw. He couldn't get a job that paid a living wage either. Hang in there, man! I had to live with my parents for a long time too." NOT SO FUNNY NOW, IS IT?

I mean, for instance, my mom went to bed tonight before making my dinner [SHOT OF PARENTS CHEERFULLY SINGING ALONG WITH THE RADIO IN THEIR FANCY TOYOTA VENZA]. Which is fine, I mean, I know how to make dinner [SHOT OF MICROWAVE HEATING MEAL].
This is where the hilarity starts to kick in - see, he thinks his parents have gone to bed, but they have in fact gone to pick up their friends for an impromptu road trip! They didn't even bother to tell their son they left town! And really, why would they? He's such a LOSER! Look at him, eating Lean Cuisine for dinner because it was all the grocery store had for less than $4 and he didn't get home from his soul-crushing cubicle before all the restaurants closed. Oh man, this is great!

It just starts to make you wonder - is this what happens when you age? [PARENTS ARRIVE AT WHAT APPEARS TO BE BURNING MAN, HIPSTER IS NOW SITTING IN THE MOST BORING, EMPTY ROOM IN THE WORLD]
OK, now this is the high point of the whole thing. See, his parents have gone to a gigantic desert orgy to drop acid and have fun! They can afford to do that because they have faithfully voted Republican for decades, so that when the dad finally sold his company, he simultaneously dodged that federal embezzlement charge and got literally millions of dollars (at the expense of the taxpayers and his former employees) so he and his wife can live the Dionysian dream until they take so much coke their hearts stop! Meanwhile, their hapless hipster son's stuck at home, in a series of tiny beige rooms he can't even afford to decorate with posters! Ha ha ha! I bet he WISHES he was going to Burning Man, only he can't, because he has to be back at Widget Hell Incorporated at 7am, or Mr. Dithers will throw him out on the street and he won't have health insurance to pay for the anti-depressants he desperately needs to cope with the crippling heartbreak of watching literally every dream he ever had go up in an overworked, underpaid, heavily-taxed puff of smoke! God, this is a laugh!

My friends used to say I was the lucky one; I had the fun parents. Where's the fun now? [HIPSTER YELLS "GOODNIGHT" TO HIS PARENTS' CLOSED BEDROOM DOOR. THERE IS NO ANSWER.]
Oh God, I am laughing so hard I'm crying over here! "Where's the fun now?," indeed! He has to go straight to bed because it's already 1am and he has to get up in 4 hours because he has a 1.5 hour commute for that 7am start time. The only problem is that the commercial then cuts back to Burning Man, where the smug, rich, old, white people who ruined America for the rest of us are offloading bags of sex toys and syringes from the back of their fancy brand-new Toyota Venza. We never get to see the moment when the arson team they hired finally lights the house, with their son still inside, for the insurance money. And we also never see the flashback to the moment two days before, when they took out a $5 million life insurance policy on him. In a way they did him a favor; he would never have been worth more than $30k alive.

Venza-driving bastards.

So I guess I would have to conclude that if you are a law-breaking "objectivist" piece of crap who believes there is nothing more important than your own selfishness, this is a win. On the other hand, if you're an American under 40 who ever harbored dreams of owning your own home, getting adequate sleep, being able to afford medical care or having your employer treat you like anything more than a number, it's a FAIL. Perspective is really important.

The Kwerky Guide to...The Edinburgh Fringe Festival!

It's August. And August has been the saddest month of the year for me for the past three years and counting. Because it's Edinburgh Fringe time. And I'm missing it. AGAIN.

If you've never heard of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, I have nothing more to say to you. Next you'll be telling me you don't know what Eisteddfod is! Geez! You people should be embarrassed to call yourselves The American Society for Reunification with the United Kingdom! Wait, what? Oh... Just me? OK.

The Fringe is the world's largest arts festival. If you're not going to believe me until you see a bunch of crowd-sourced dates and statistics supporting that statement, you can check out the Wikipedia page. As for my personal relationship to the Fringe, well...we're very close. [Editor's note: Kimberly has never been anywhere near Edinburgh, let alone during the Fringe.] I found out about it back in 2008, when I happened upon that year's Guardian Fringe podcast (Live at the Gilded Balloon - still on my iPod). I was floored by the variety of people they trotted out to be interviewed and do snippets of their acts. Some were famous, some were not, some were hilarious, some were not, but everything was NEW. There's a spirit of innovation at Edinburgh - people come with concept shows where they do their act while cooking for the audience, or play 12 different characters, or do sketches set only in the Victorian era. It's fantastic! And everyone I absolutely worship as a comedy writer today has done at least one Edinburgh show, and a lot of them still go back every year.

If I ever get my damn passport renewed, maybe I'll get to go see it BEFORE I DIE.

But I digress. This is supposed to be a Guide To... post, so I'll tell you everything I know about Edinburgh, all of which was gleaned from podcasts, as well as the Twitter feeds and blogs of performers *at* the Festival. Where I am not. I can't emphasize that enough. I'm in Atlanta.

This is my town. Pretty, huh? Image graciously yoink'd rockmixer's flickr account on a CC license :)

This is Edinburgh, according to the internet. I wouldn't know;  I've never been. Image graciously yoink'd from kyz's flickr account, also on a CC license.

Things I Know About the Edinburgh Fringe Festival

1. There are no vegetables available anywhere.

2. It's insanely cold.

3. It rains. A lot. Like, all the time. Seattle - coffee + beer = Edinburgh

4. There are way more Australians than you might expect.

5. No one sleeps.

6. Everyone gets really sick and/or depressed.

7. College kids physically assault you with flyers everywhere you go.

8. There aren't enough venues for all the bazillions of shows, so some performances will take place in church basements, etc.

9. It costs a fortune.

10. In the midst of your darkest hour, you go do your show for 3 people, almost all of whom got in for free, it goes terribly, and then one of them writes you a nasty review. This was all brilliantly documented in a musical written and performed by some of my idols, which starts around the 16:45 mark of the audio on this page. (Do yourself a favor and listen. I can't even tell you how much I heart that thing. I always wish my fellow improv actors were familiar so I could do the "where's my mug" bit before shows.) (Oh yeah - and LANGUAGE WARNING!)

It sounds awful.

I REALLY want to go.

For now, I just have to say the same thing I say every year: "Maybe I'll get to go next year." In the meantime, I'll content myself with the usual voyeuristic obsession. If you'd like to know what the hell I'm talking about when I bring it up obsessively over the course of the next few weeks (and you know I will), you can probably find out at the Guardian's Fringe site, or current Fringe performer Michael Legge's blog (which, incidentally, makes for a highly entertaining read even when the Fringe is not on), or all the dozens of other podcasts and websites that will no doubt spring up and spout information until the end of the festival. Google it yourselves! Do I have to do everything?!?!