The chat box gave a beep, and an icon start to pulse expectantly. It was a universal sign that a response was in the offing. Then a black cloud passed by;
I’m Tom, your virtual assistant, and can understand full sentences. How can I help you today?
Despite those seductive words, Derrick banged on his keyboard, stubbing his middle finger in the effort, with the words he’d typed so many times that morning, I NEED A REAL PERSON!! He had the vain hope that this time writing that in capital letters with not one but two exclamation points would get him to a trained technical support person to whom he could relay both his problem and frustration. Alas, Tom’s response was identical to prior Toms’ responses over the course of the heretofore wasted day.It sounds like you want to connect with an associate. First, tell me what you need help with.
Derrick closed his eyes tightly, gritted his teeth, and typed in, Person, I need a person, then, in a moment of inspiration, he added, I need to pay you. At least it was different from “I need a real person” and surely even a virtual assistant would have been programmed to deal with someone wanting to pay money to the evil genius that created Tom.
The response was heartening. “Please wait one moment while I connect you to one of our technical staff.” Derrick allowed a tear to fall onto the keyboard then quickly wiped it away, blew on the keys’ shallow depression lest a bit of moisture wreaked havoc on his MacBook Pro. He was having enough problems with the internet; he didn’t need the hypnotic beachball of death that would spin and spin until he was forced to reboot to further ruin his day.
Hi. I’m Kevin. How can I help you today?
OMG. Kevin was another version of Tom.
I need a REAL person, wrote Derrick.
You’ve got one! wrote Kevin, followed by, how can I help you today?
Derrick cut and pasted the multitude of messages he’d already sent to the Toms of this world with a tad more elaboration explaining he’d done this no fewer than half a dozen times that morning and only got virtual responses playing Jeopardy by turning his words into questions. Kevin wrote an apology to the effect that he, too, felt virtual responses could be frustrating and advised that in the future Derrick simply ask for a real technician. Asking for a real person was too vague but something the virtual Tom could be reprogrammed for.
Thus continued Derrick’s saga albeit with an actual person reading the epic.
What happened was that Derrick’s internet was registering weak security. A call to his internet provider, which he referred to as Sub-Optimum, got him on the hook with a young woman of an uncertain origin judging by the thick accent who told him to disconnect, then reboot, then use a paperclip to reset his modem/router to the original factory setting. It worked.
She then asked if he’d be so kind as to fill out a survey which he was about to do until the modem/router’s light went from green to red and started the process over again albeit with another person of indistinct gender and nationality who went by the suspect name of Marcuse.
Marcuse advised the same thing. The difference, however, was that Marcuse said that he, or she, would send over a technician who just happened to be in Derrick’s neighborhood later that day with Sub-Optimum’s latest modem, or router – Derrick wasn’t sure which was which – to restore his system to what it had been before he bought the router/modem from Amazon which CNET said would extend and speed up his internet coverage.
CNET was right. The reinstalled Sub-Optimum router, as it turned out, worked fine as long as his computer was within a five-foot radius, no one else was on the internet, using the TV, or trying to print to the printer using wi-fi, and if Derrick didn’t mind watching his screen stall while data was downloaded. Another call to Sub-Optimum got a slurry-speaking Winston on the hook advising Derrick to get a modem/router with three or more units spread over his house, which Sub-Optimal didn’t provide. “Try Best Buy or Amazon,” advised Winston, who concluded with an email transcript and a request to participate in a customer satisfaction survey.
The living, breathing, Kevin represented the modem/router company, WhataMesh, marker of the three units Derrick had bought. No problem, he wrote. I’ll walk you through. Phone in hand, Derrick did as Kevin advised.
I’ve turned it off, now what? wrote Derrick.
Wait 30 seconds then turn it back on, wrote Kevin.
Okay, I’ve turned it on. Now what? wrote Derrick.
What does your wi-fi say? Wrote Kevin.
Weak security, and it’s connected to my Sub-Optimum account, wrote Derrick.
A long pause ensued. After some moments Derrick wrote, are you still there? and waited for an equally long pause until the dialog box registered that Kevin was writing.
Unplug the ethernet cable, turn it around, and replug it, he wrote.
Which one is that? wrote Derrick, who had in his hands half a dozen wires and cables connected to his old router, his old modem, and some to the new thing from WhataMesh.
It should be yellow and thick, a coaxial cable, responded Kevin.
There was no yellow cable. Could it be grey? wrote Derrick. A long pause followed.
Are you there Kevin?
I am here. Yes, it could be grey.
Derrick did as instructed, went to his Mac, and noted that now there was no wi-fi at all. As a result, his dialog with Kevin ended. Derrick almost took a hammer to the WhataMesh device when his phone rang. It was Kevin.
“I lost you,” said Kevin. “Maybe the phone is better.” Kevin had a thick accent of undetectable nationality, perhaps Indian or Pakistani, or Philippine. He asked Derrick to relay his full name, email address, model, and product number of the WhataMesh system along with purchase details.
“But I gave those in the chat!” said Derrick.
“Yes,” said Kevin. “Can I please have those again?”
Derrick’s knuckles went white around one of the cables as he relayed, again, the information to the point of spelling out his email address down to “golf, mike, alpha, india, lima” for Gmail.
After plugging, unplugging, resetting, coordinating, changing passwords twice with the WhataMesh app on his phone, and turning off then on the trio of devices which turned out to be a router AND modem in one, Kevin asked him to look at his wi-fi settings. It said connected to WhataMesh. There was no mention of weak security. A speed check passed muster.
“I think you’ve done it!” said an elated Derrick.
“Try some of your favorite websites,” offered Kevin. “Just to make sure.”
Netflix, Amazon, and Bank of America came on like lightning. He disconnected his Mac from power and walked from room to room trying different sites constantly monitoring his wi-fi connection via WhataMesh. Joy of joys. Derrick was nearly in tears.
“I can’t thank you enough,” he bubbled into the phone.
“It has been my pleasure,” said Kevin. “Now I’ll email you a survey and if….”
“One sec,” said Derrick, who hit the print button on the site that displayed the serial and model numbers of his WhataMesh system just in case. He turned his head from the computer to watch the light on his printer flash on and start the soothing whirring sound of printing.
And he watched.
And he watched.
The printer icon on his Mac showed a red exclamation mark. He opened it to see a back-and-forth movement above the document he was trying to print with the words “searching for printer” actively explaining its objective.
Nothing happened.
He told Kevin that he’d never had this problem to which Kevin asked if he checked the cables to the printer, especially the coaxial cable, and was quick to suggest its likely color. “There is no cable,” said Derrick, “It’s connected via wi-fi.” Kevin asked him to wait a moment and came back after several moments and suggested he connect the Mac to the printer with a cable and see if that worked. Derrick said he no longer knew where such a cable was if he ever had it.
Kevin asked him to wait a moment.
Kevin came back and asked what type of printer Derrick had, what was the model number, and the serial number but didn’t ask where he bought it. In fact, Derrick had “borrowed” it a few years earlier when he snuck it out of his office after being laid off from his job and was grateful no one bothered him when he carried it away.
Derrick relayed the details. Kevin asked for yet another moment and gave him two pieces of critical information. One was the 800 number for the printer’s manufacturer. The other was a link to the operation manual with the comment the printer was no longer being made. Derrick started to plead. When he was done, Kevin, whose accent seemed to have grown less comprehensible, said he didn’t work for the printer’s company and could only help with the WhataMesh issue, which was resolved. And just to make sure, he had Derrick check the wi-fi and, sure enough, WhataMesh was still up there.
“Very good,” said Kevin. “I’m glad we could get this working. Is there anything else?”
Derrick mumbled an “I guess not” which Kevin asked him to repeat several times and then reminded Derrick that he soon be getting a customer satisfaction survey. It arrived before Kevin had finished speaking.
At least the internet was working. Inspired by that achievement, Derrick clicked on the link to the OhBrother printer’s website and then clicked on the optimistic “support” button that stood out at the very top of the home page. What appeared was a dialog box with the now-familiar phrase, I’m Tom, your virtual assistant, and can understand full sentences. How can I help you today?
Tom suggested a cable.
Eventually, Derrick hired a local HS kid off Craigslist who for $50 and a ride – he didn’t have a driver’s license – made the wi-fi connection in less than 15 minutes. His name wasn’t Tom.