She puts me on her phone to talk to Privacy Assist and then proceeds to go chat with Chad from New Accounts, whom I can only assume has very fascinating stories about the gym and which protein powder taste best with Red Bull. After a mind numbing scripted 20 minute conversation, I ask for a confirmation number. My good phone friend tells me he does not have one for me, but I will receive all my information via email in 24-48 hours. I hang up, ask to use the bathroom before I go, get told no, and leave the bank.
I am now like a 40 year old, overweight single woman who got asked for her number at the club. I am stalking my phone, just waiting for some kind of contact. Nothing, nada, nil. So today, I decide to call my friendly Bank Of America and ask por que no email. Did you decide I was not that hot after all?
First contact after a 10 minute wait on hold. Now that does not sound like a huge deal, except I can't actually make a phone call from inside my house. Apparently I did not pay for that option when I signed up with AT&T. So I am sitting on my back porch, in the 98 degree weather, on hold. Finally I get Jenny, who says she can't help me and transfers me to the Privacy Assist office.
I now get to talk to Giovanni, who sounds the farthest away from a swarthy Italian, who in his thick Indian accent wishes me a good evening. After a frustrating conversation where he does not understand my name, how to spell Grand Canyon, or the term close of business, he informs me that I was not in fact getting enrolled in Privacy Assist during my first phone call but just making light conversation with the phone operator. I ask him if we could, you know, go ahead and enroll me. He says, oh, I can't do that here, you must talk to sales. This is now a 30 minute conversation.
I now get ahold of Jennifer. Jennifer is apparently a very common name in New Dehli, but none the less she is ready to talk to me. After explaining my story at the top of my lungs and then giving her all my info at top volume (so the neighbors can clearly hear my social and credit card number), she then tells me that she cannot help me because that would just be to easy, and I needed to call Bank of America back. I have now been on the phone for an hour.
Back to Bank of America and I talk to, no joke, Jennifer. Are there no other girl's names out there, or is this the running joke for when I am on "Boiling Point"? She gets my story, in a regular volume, so identity thieves will have to listen a little closer before she tells me that I should be calling the $9.99 line and not the $12.99 line because I am a Bank of America customer. Am I on crack or am I not talking to Bank of America right now? She gives me a number and tells me to hang up and call the $9.99 number. I have now been on the phone for an hour and twenty minutes.
Finally after being on hold just long enough to make a human sized puddle on my porch, a guy picks up and I swear he is going to say his name is Jennifer. No such luck. He finally gets me into the system, despite his best effort to repeat the entire script that I have now heard four times to me. When we are done I ask for a confirmation number. He tells me he can't give me one but should receive a confirmation email in 24-48 hours. This sounds vaguely familiar. I have been on the phone for an hour and forty minutes. Before hanging up, he told me to have a good day. I told him to have one too, and I assumed I would be talking to him again on Monday.
Is this whole house thing going to be this hard the entire way through? If so, I might as well pack my stuff and move in to the dog house with Carson. I hope this is the last hiccup in the road to homeownership.
