Civilization, part 1 - R. Scott Robison

Joe was not a criminal. He just didn’t believe that a number he rarely saw and on which he had little influence should be able to change his life. That is how Joe got into trouble.

* * *

On the occasion of his birthday, the Verizon Wireless Company emailed Joe to alert him to the fact that switching to online bill-pay would result in a $20 credit to Joe’s account. This was not due to any felicitous intent on the part of the company, but rather a coincidence. Upon visiting the company’s website, Joe discovered an additional promotion: Switching to paperless statements would also result in a $20 credit to Joe’s account.

Adding quickly on his fingers, Joe determined that, combined, these two offers would nearly equate to a free month of cellular telephone usage. He quickly responded in the affirmative to both offers and had a happy birthday.

Had Joe read the sentences in small font at the bottom of each offer, he would have known that it would take four to six weeks for the appropriate credit to be applied to his account. As it turned out, Joe forgot about the promotions entirely and was not troubled by his usual bill when it was issued the next month.

When the succeeding month was found on the calendar, however, Joe’s Verizon bill indicated he owed about half of his usual dues. Puzzled, Joe thought back until he had a pleasant moment of recollection. This bit of happiness faded as he recalled the entirety of his birthday agreement with the company. Inspecting the bill more closely, Joe shook his head. Only one $20 credit had been applied to his account, and he now definitely remembered that there should be two.

Joe had never called a customer service number before and was astounded by the complex hierarchy of automated options, none of which satisfied his problem.

“Thank you for calling Verizon customer service, this is M’Shawnda. May I have your account number please?”

His mind momentarily halted by the inability to process the representative’s name, Joe fumbled for his last statement before remembering that he had gone paperless. He logged onto his account and supplied M’Shawnda with his account number.

“Thank you. What can I help you with today?”

In a convoluted way that mentioned how he had enjoyed his chocolate-frosted birthday cake, Joe recounted the story of the two promotions and the one credit. After quite a bit of audible typing and one session on hold (loud but strangely broken pop music), Joe heard M’Shawnda say:

“I’m sorry, but it appears those two offers can’t be combined in our computer for the same month.”

Joe blustered.

“Now you got the credit for enrolling in online bill-pay, and I could remove you from paperless statements and re-enroll you, but it wouldn’t help you out because the computer says we’re no longer offering the credit promotion for that program.”

Feeling a large sense of impotency, Joe continued to complain while M’Shawnda continued audibly typing.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t credit your account for a promotion we no longer offer. Here’s what you do: Write a written complaint to our customer service center. Their address is…”

Joe’s letter to Verizon was short and self-righteous, but contained only two typographical errors. Verizon’s reply, some weeks later, stated that, according to the computer, those two offers could not be combined. It did not contain any typographical errors.

Turning down the dark path of rationalization taken by those unfamiliar with legal statutes, Joe decided to withhold $20 from his next payment, which, as it happened, was the last in his two-year agreement with the company. Unfortunately, this required him to un-enroll from online bill-pay, else the full amount would automatically be deducted from his checking account.

One of the sentences in small font relating to the online bill-pay promotion read: “Offer void if enrollment is cancelled within 12 months.” Had Joe read this on his birthday, he likely would not have considered its ramifications; furthermore, he had deleted the offer email and did not subsequently have the opportunity to read it either. As a result, Joe was flummoxed to learn that Verizon Wireless Company had taken offense to his decisions and calculated that Joe owed 40 dollars.

Reluctantly resigning himself to at least two years of business with the Sprint Company, Joe vowed not to pay Verizon the $40 he truly believed was his. Imagining in a cinematic fashion that shadowy company mercenaries might subsequently hunt him and demand payment, Joe prepared in his mind several verbal defenses founded on largely logical arguments. Pleased with his wit, Joe continued his life.

[Continued in part 2]