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A Transcript of Trying To Cancel Internet

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The following is an only slightly modified account of a recent attempt to sever internet and cable over the phone with a customer service agent.

Hi. I need to cancel my service.

OK, may I ask why?

We moved and are cutting cable and have gone with a new internet provider.

Mmhmm. Did you get the little white box everyone is getting?

That's the one.

You know that's just a glorified hot spot, right? It runs off your data. They call it home internet, but really, it's a succubus implanted in your dwelling to drain you of life force and vitality. It is wholly malevolent.

What?

I know, right? So weird of them. Does anybody in your household work from home?

Yes.

Heh, you're going to hate it.

OK.

The white box, it's covered in scales invisible to the eye, and during peak working hours, the scales harden into a sort of exoskeleton. Kind of like a millipede or... or a sea spider. Good luck getting online. The white box wants to make sure you fail so that your livelihood is upended and your family leaves you. You may think you're saving money in the short term, but you'll probably file for bankruptcy, to be honest.

Scales?

Yes, as I explained, the scales slow down the service. Look at the box. Can you see it now?

Yes...

Does it have red eyes? Like, currently, are the pupils glowing?

There's no... no, the cube doesn't have eyes.

Oh, it will, trust me. I had one of those cubes, and it put me out of work for a week. It started to recite this curse in Latin. "Diuro te demon, quicunque es, et demando tibi ex hanc hora..." Well, you get it. Something about dead horses.

We're using it. Everything seems fine.

 

You think that at first. I was on the phone with them for 40 hours trying to get the curse lifted, but they put me through so many hoops. They said I had to repeat the same hex backwards into a mirror and crush up a dried thistle? I asked them to send me a new box. It showed up, but it was refurbished and guh-ROSS. I later found out it was the origin site of the novel coronavirus.

I really appreciate knowing that, but I need to go ahead and cancel.

Can we offer you a service transfer to your new address?

No, thank you.

Prolonged silence. Typing.

Are you still there?

Yes, I'm here. My connection is slow.

More silence.

It's my birthday next week.

Happy birthday.

Silence.

I have not hit the button yet. Can I go over pricing options? We can offer you two months free and waive installation fees. As a bonus, we can arrange to have one of our interns come out weekly to practice reflexology on your bunions. Tara is getting certified, and she's really improved.

No, please, I just want to cancel.

All right, then. For our records, please verbally confirm that I offered you a discount and transfer options and that I tried my very best to keep you from being subsumed into a haunted underworld of pulse-pounding terror that will feast on the remains of all you have toiled to build, even with unlimited data.

Thank you. What do I do with my cable box and router? (END BOLD)

Oh, God, burn them. No one wants those.

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Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephhayes on X or @stephrhayes on Instagram.

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Copyright 2024 Creators Syndicate Inc.

 

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