Tag: Customer Service

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My doctor sent me a bill for $1, 300. My insurance company had denied my claim with a code 23. Code 23 means that the bill exceeded the insurance company’s contractual agreement. This could mean that the insurance company and the doctor are going to duke it out and I need to wait to find out who pays or it could mean that I have to pay. It wasn’t clear from either the doctor’s bill or the insurance company’s denial.

I go to the insurance company’s web site because the insurance company doesn’t want you calling them. They do everything to discourage it. If you ever do call, a recorded message will encourage you to go to their web site for faster service. I try finding my answer on their web site. They explain in minute detail about what they will pay for. I am sure that the author is a lawyer trying to help the company fend off law suits and not by a person interested in answering an actual person’s customer service question. After reading as many explanations as I can stay awake for, I realize I still have no idea who is supposed to pay the bill. On the plus side, if some pissy customer service agent asks whether I tried using the company’s website, and they do ask that question, I feel like I can truthfully answer yes I tried.

The doctor’s bill is due in a week or so. I am not going to pay the bill until I find out who is responsible. If you pay the bill, both the doctor and the insurance company loose interest in the answer. Unless you plan to spend hours on the phone arguing about this, never pay the bill until you know you need to pay the bill. Someone has to be waiting to be paid in order for you to get any action and it is best it is the doctor and not you. I wait a couple of days to see if I get a revised bill from the doctor with the insurance payment or directions that I am indeed responsible.

The revised bill never comes. Which is a crisis. I now have to call the insurance company’s Customer Support for an answer. This will consume a good hour of me waiting on hold, getting transferred to several other customer support agents, and explaining my story numerous time. I prepare for the call — get a few snacks in case I get hungry, find some chores that can be done on my computer while I wait and have every document I need ready for any questions I might receive. Once I am fully prepared, I make my call.

The recorded greeting directs me to the website. The message assures me that it will be faster than waiting for a customer support agent. I want to scream I have tried the website already that is why I am calling, stop telling me to use it when it was useless. I restrain myself as it is pointless to scream at the recorded greeting, I continue to listen for further instructions which brings me to dreaded phone tree.

You climb the phone tree in order to get routed to the correct person. This is rarely my experience. First, and most importantly, you have to listen carefully to your options. If you lose focus even for a second, you might miss your option. You can then find yourself listening to dead air with no way to get back to the tree or having to leap from the tree and begin climbing again. Instead of starting over, I have found randomly depressing a number sometimes connects you to a person. It might not be the right person but then they will help you to the right person. And, really, chances are you, even if you used the phone tree, you were going to wind up with the wrong customer service agent any way, so this is actually a time saver.

Anyway, I listen to my phone tree options with laser like focus because I know this was going to be a long call. I go through the phone tree options. I choose one that best fits my need and I am finally connected to a person. Step one complete.

The first Customer Service representative was perplexed. He was confused about the denial. He saw the same explanation I saw but couldn’t determine who should pay the outstanding amount. He asks me to hold. He doesn’t actually put me on hold though so I hear the whispered conversation he has with a nearby associate. After five minutes of this, and without letting me know, he puts me on hold. I know I am still connected because I begin to hear recordings again which includes a message about using the company’s website for faster service and also letting me know that the company had just won some customer service award for customer satisfaction. I find this difficult to believe. Ten minutes later the customer service agent returns to tell me he needs help from a supervisor, can I continue to hold.

I put the phone on speaker and continue with my chores. After another ten minutes, the Rep comes back on the line and tells me he has to transfer me to another Customer Service Rep at another office to answer my question because the phone tree directed me to wrong person. I am no longer a company employee and I am using COBRA to pay for my company insurance. Which seems like a pretty lame answer because I am paying to have exactly the same insurance as someone who is an employee of the company. I get exactly the same benefits as an employee. Also if COBRA employees should call a different number is the one I should call, why does my insurance card give his number. An awkward silence follows, until exasperated with the absence of an explanation, I agree to be transferred. Before the Rep transfers me, he gives me the right phone number to call in case he accidentally disconnects me during the transfer process. This is not reassuring.

The new Rep answers and proceeds to irritate me. He is way too friendly for my taste. He speaks American Bro like we are old pals and not a customer and a company representative tasked with helping the customer with a problem. I don’t encourage him whatsoever. But he is one determined dude. He spends a good five minutes trying to connect with me. He notices I live in San Diego and talks about a trip he took to San Diego many years ago. He loved San Diego. I mutter a few monosyllable answers when he feels it important to include me in the conversation but, for the most part, he doesn’t really need my participation. He is on speaker and I am doing other things and I can wait for him to exhaust his faux friendliness.

He finally winds down and asks me what my problem is. This makes me a little testy. I tell him that I have already explained it to the other Rep, didn’t the other Rep explain it to him. Maintaining his Bro demeanor, he lets me know that he just wants to make sure he has the correct information. I want to ask him to just give me the information he has because I suspect he doesn’t have any information whatsoever. But I’m pretty sure the Bro would try to bond further with me so I surrender. I explain,for a second time, my problem.

He does some quick tapping on his keyboard and then stops talking. The first time he has stopped talking since we connected. I hear the clickity clack of typing on a keyboard, an audible “this is interesting” and then he told me he was going to put me a hold for a moment. I wait. Like the previous Rep, he doesn’t put me on hold. I hear him talking to the person next to him. After about five minutes of a whispered back and forth, Bro tells me he has to talk to his supervisor and for me to continue to hold. This time he means business because I hear the recording which tells me that I can get faster service if I go to the website.

After another 10 minutes, Bro comes back on the line. “Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

I knew I was in trouble then. Nobody calls you Mr. when they have good news. He asks if he can give me a call back in a few minutes as he is still trying to determine who is responsible for paying the bill. I give him my phone number. He tells me he will call back in a few minutes. Then, because I have had problem with insurance companies and doctors not leaving messages on my recorder because they don’t know if other people use the phone and they are afraid they will be sued for divulging private information, I tell him, “that he can leave a message on my recorder if I don’t answer.” He assures me it will only be a few minutes and that he can give me an answer. He wants to give me this information directly. I tell him it is unnecessary to speak to me directly if, for some reason I don’t answer, all I need to know is who is responsible for the $1,300.

“Mr. Fitzpatrick just know I have taken a personal interest in this and I will get back with you by the end of the day.” I thank him for his help and wait for Bro to call back.

He doesn’t.

I call back the next day. I will spare you the ordeal of the recorded messages, the phone tree, and the transfers even though the original Customer Service rep gave me the correct phone number to call. I finally get a supervisor who explained code 23. She tells me that, even though the code as defined by her company means that bill exceeds the insurance company’s contractual agreement, what it really means is that I hadn’t met my deductible yet. I asked her why the company didn’t use a code that says I haven’t met my deductible instead as I would have understood this immediately and it would have saved me hours of customer service calls. She said technically code 23 is correct because the cost did exceed the contractual agreement regarding my deductible. I asked then why doesn’t anyone at her company know this. I spoke with two different reps who spoke with their associates and supervisors and nobody seemed to know this all encompassing meaning of code 23.

She gives this a think and then replies, “I will let my supervisor know.” She isn’t going to engage in a pointless argument with me over bureaucratic mumbo jumbo that she doesn’t have the answer for. She can’t do anything about it, so she lets me know that she will pass on my complaint to someone who could. I am absolutely positive she did not tell her supervisor.

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We are trying to buy train tickets with the Spanish Rail online system. I get all the way to the point of purchase and when I try to buy, for some unknown reason, the system fails and delivers an ambiguous error message – something to the effect system unable to complete transaction, please try again later. Thinking that there is something wrong with the internet or the Spanish Rail’s computer system or there is a bird sitting on the cable line, I try again later. The sell fails again with the same message. I try again later. And again, the purchase fails. Thinking that there is something wrong with my computer or my browser or I am simply too blind to see what I am doing wrong, I ask Bob to try. Fresh eyes, you know. He, unfortunately, has exactly the same response.

First we are not technophobes. We embrace new technology. We bank, shop, communicate on line. We very rarely chuck it all in and call for help. When we do call, we really have tried everything. We search for a very well hidden customer support line. I always think it I am just one link away from finding the information I need, so I never give up looking no matter how long it takes. Finally, after about 30 minutes of searching we locate a phone number. It, however, is a Spanish phone number and not a toll free American number. We decide to wait until we get to Spain to purchase tickets. No big deal.

We arrive in Barcelona. Both of us, at different times, attempt to buy tickets. Both of us fail miserably when we try to purchase. It is the same ambiguous message so we don’t know what our mistake is or how to correct. We check with the clerk at our hotel. He is young and we, or at least to his eyes, are old. He gives you that condescending look that says, “OK Grandpa, this is going to take me about 10 seconds to figure out and you are going to look so dumb when I tell you what you did wrong.” I grit my teeth and wait for his help. He keys in all the information. Tappity, tip, tap – faster than the speed of light, one handed and holding a piece of paper with our details, the other hand typing. I am indeed impressed. He has my full confidence that he will figure it all out.

When he tries to purchases, the sale fails. His face looks perplexed. How could this be? He tries again. He fails again. And again, and again he fails. We tell him that is exactly what happened to us. He now believes we have a genuine problem instead of a user problem. He calls Customer Support for Spanish Rail. He gives our details to the agent. The purchase fails for her. The desk clerk explains that is exactly what happened to him and to us. She puts the clerk on hold in order that she can check into the error messages and determine what the ambiguous messages mean. After a few minutes, she explains that the problem is that we need a pin code for our credit card and because we aren’t entering it, our credit card company is rejecting it.

Which is weird because I called the credit card company before I left and let them know we would be travelling in Europe and what countries we would be going to. Additionally, I have used the credit card all over the globe and I never had to enter a pin number before, indeed in the last week we have used the credit card in Greece, Montenegro and Italy. Furthermore, why now, at the end of our trip, is the credit company requiring it? This is said, of course, to the hotel clerk in well thought out clear statements that takes about five minutes for me to relay. In agitated Spanish, he relays this information to the customer service agent in about 10 seconds. I hadn’t realized that Spanish translations of English were so concise.

She can’t explain why but she does know that a pin number is what we need. We explain that we don’t have a pin number for this credit card because we only charge purchases to it and never use a pin. She doesn’t know what to do, so she thinks it is best that we make the purchase at the computer kiosk at the train station. No not that. We try to get her to book tickets for us. She explains that unless we have a pin number, she can’t help us. Then why would booking at the computer kiosk at the train station be any better, Bob asks.  Because there are Spanish Rail employees walking around the train station and, if they see us in trouble at the computer kiosk they will be able to assist us. This makes no sense whatsoever if what we need is a pin number. But, we are beaten down and decide to go to the train station.

In order to get to the train station, we need to use the Barcelona Metro. This means buying tickets at a computer kiosk because this Metro stop has no ticket sellers. We start out well, using the English instructions on how to buy tickets. But soon enough our first roadblock is put up. Our options for tickets are an all day ticket, a multiple-day ticket, a packet of 10 trips, to a ticket to Barcelona Airport. We are unable to locate a round trip ticket to a specific point on the Barcelona Metro. We see no help. After several frustrated attempts to find what we are looking for, we decide to buy the full day pass. We get to the point of purchase and the sale fails. The failure message is in Spanish and the screen instructions now turn back to Spanish and all of our previous information is deleted. We have start again.

Bob spies a young man standing next us who is having trouble as well. He knows the trick to get help. He presses a small red button on the wall which brings out a Metro official. We wait patiently as she helps him with his problem. We grab her before she can slip back into the bowels of the Barcelona Metro. We explain our problem and tells us our problem is that we need a pin number in order to approve the sale. I realize that our debit cards have pin numbers and I tell Bob that this is the solution to both of our problems. I used my debit card, type in my pin number and voila we have two round trip Metro tickets to the train station.

Armed with this new knowledge, we confidently ride to the Barcelona train station. There are more computer kiosks at the train station than slot machines at a Las Vegas casino. Row after row, lining the center of the station, every empty space had a computer kiosk near by. We stride up to one, type in our details, use our debit card with pin numbers and confirm our round trip tickets to San Sebastian. The screen prompts me for the PIN number. YES, I have one. Tappity, tip, tap. We are on our way. I enter the pin and depress enter. The same ambiguous error message appears. “But we have a pin number,” I scream. We go looking for help. Which, after all, was the main reason we came all the way to the Barcelona train station in the first place. All the help we would receive from the Spanish Rail clerks that were all hanging out there just waiting to help frustrated passengers. But they weren’t any. We stand at computer kiosk. I wave my hand like a drowning man going down for the third time. Blub. Blub. No help.

Bob gets in the ticket line and I get in the information line. Bob’s line moves faster and he joins me with the news. He was told that they were only selling tickets for today’s trains at the ticket desk, that, if we had a trip for a future date, we needed to use the computer kiosk. Bob tells the guy that we had been trying but we had problems. He said go back to computer kiosks, try again, and that there were Spanish Rail customer service agents walking around the computer kiosks who can help us. Bob explained that nobody seemed to help us and we definitely needed help. The ticket agent assured Bob that someone would eventually help us and to go back to the computer kiosk.

I am deflated, as I am certain that I will get exactly the same response from the Information Desk clerk. As I am now at the front of the information line, I figure it is worth a try. I explain my dilemma. The woman kindly tells me to go to the computer kiosk and somebody would help me. I explained that we had already tried and nobody came to help. As if she doesn’t believe me, she stands up at her position, cranes her neck and does a 180 degree scan of the station floor, trying to find us help. She finds no one. YES. Finally. Surely she will have to help because we are obviously passengers in trouble and there is no one to help us. NO. She directs us to return to the computer kiosks and says that there is someone out there and they will eventually come find me. But where? She says that, and, on this point, I completely believe her, the Customer Service agent is probably helping someone else.

We return to the computer kiosk and try to book our tickets. I get so fast that I can race through the first seven or so steps in seconds because I have memorized them due to the screen returning to the first step every time a sale fails. Bob looks around for help. I curse, I scream, I sweat profusely, doing everything I know to look like a customer in distress, hoping that my performance would capture the attention of the customer service agent. My performance fails miserably. No one comes to our aid. “Don’t I look like I am having trouble with the computer?” I ask Bob. “Maybe you should cry or something?” I try but I can’t. I am too damn mad to cry. I do loudly declaim, “Can someone please take my money? I just want to give someone my money so I can get some damn train tickets.” Nobody is listening.

After several attempts at trying to book round trip tickets, which is what I want, I try booking a one-way ticket which would, at least, get us to San Sebastian. Which, to my surprise, works. I can’t believe it. Two one way tickets pop out of the machine. I am overwhelmed with joy. I want to cry. Then Bob reminds me that we still need return tickets but I push him out of the way. I am so happy that I grab the tickets, spin around like a movie star in a musical and the camera is watching me from above. I dance, I sing. Nobody in the Barcelona Train station notices.

For the record, we spent 2 hours in the USA trying , we spent another two hours trying in Barcelona, the hotel clerk tried to help us for another hour, then we spent 20 minutes buying our Metro ticket, then a 20 minutes trip to the train station and then another hour and half fighting the computer kiosks – it took us a grand total of 7 hours and 10 minutes to book one half of our round trip train ticket to San Sebastian. Our return trip took all of 2 minutes to book. The San Sebastian train station is much smaller than the Barcelona station and the man at the ticket booth was happy to book our return tickets for us.

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Last week Frontier Airlines announced they eliminated their phone customer service. From now on, customers will have to get information electronically or with live chat. They believe that their digital communications system will “ensure our customers get the information they need as expeditiously and efficiently as possible.” How they determined “expeditiously” is beyond me? My personal experience with web sites is mixed at best. Yes, sometimes, I can find my answer quickly. More often than not though, my digital communications encounters are a trip into Internet Hell. Not all situations are the same. Reconfirming a booking is easy electronically. Correcting an error in a booking is a different story altogether.

This is particularly irksome in situations when I know a company employee can answer my question almost immediately — saving me time, ensuring that I have a clear understanding of my situation and stopping me from frustrated searches through numerous web pages. I guess it is pretty selfish of me to want a quick answer from a company employee when I can just as easily spend hours searching for the right page. Frontier, will counter that there is live chat if I need to reach the company directly. But, and here is my big problem with live chat, I only contact the airline when the digital tools they provided me have failed to help me. I only call when I am desperate. So, while live chat may be an option, by the time I resort to it, I am already frustrated and I just want help. At this point, typing out the details of my questions is just fueling my anger about the lack of help I have already received.

I want to talk to a person when I reach this level of frustration. It makes me feel better. I know that the company understands my problem and I know that someone is working on my problem. But, you say, Live Chat can do that too. It is exactly the same thing except you are communicating through the web instead of a phone. Maybe but I prefer talking to a person and Frontier won’t let me because its position is incredibly limited to the point of arrogance, they are forcing customers to use their digital tools. If a customer has the temerity to call their customer service phone number, the system will eventually hang up on them. Disconnecting customers who want to use the phone is irritating and insulting particularly when last week your company would have answered those same calls.

What irritates me the most is the glaringly dishonest corporate spin that introduced this change in service. The notion that Frontier is providing the the same level of customer service, if not better, than the company delivered before is quite clearly wrong. Nobody hung up on a customer’s phone call a week ago. This is a cost cutting exercise and it has nothing to do with better customer service. So don’t tell me I am smelling roses when I know it is bullshit.

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Many years back, so long that I can’t remember exact dates, Bob and I were forced by our insurance company to get an alarm system. No alarm system, no reasonably priced insurance. Bob determined that the reduced price of the insurance would offset the additional price of the alarm system so we took the plunge. I write this because while it is comforting to know that if we have an emergency (Break In, Fire, or Radon Gas) an alarm will ring, the truth is the system has served as an annoyance more than a comfort. The alarms have gone off for a variety of reasons other than a genuine emergency. Wind blowing a badly closed door opens, someone leaving the house and forgetting to disarm the alarms, burning food in the kitchen and low batteries are just a few of the examples. This means when we hear the alarms sounding we usually think why is that goddamn system going off now.

The other day, we heard a chirping noise. We ignored it. Then we heard a few heart stopping blares, then back to the chirping. Much to our chagrin, we paused our television program that, by the way, was getting really good, to search for a reason. We discovered that the batteries in the fire alarm were low. We changed the batteries. The chirping noise stopped, the heart stopping blare stopped, so, problem solved. Or not. The warning light on our console now was telling us that the alarm system was tampered with. Initially, we thought it was a simple matter of acknowledging the error and the system would reset. It didn’t reset. We tried numerous times. Nothing worked. Left with no other options, we called the alarm company’s customer support.

You know the routine, phone tree, press button 1 if you want, and after a minute or two we were connected to a nice person who tried to help us. Before we could talk to the agent, we had to verify that we were indeed the owners of the house. Bob gave our profile information and the secret code that confirms our ownership and allows the tech person to talk with us about our problem. The tech support person suspected that I hadn’t screwed the alarm all the way back into the ceiling when changing the batteries. I get on the ladder, notice that there was indeed a slight gap between the apparatus and the ceiling. Good, maybe she was right. I tried to screw it in. It doesn’t move. I twist, I turn, the apparatus doesn’t move. Bob tries. He, too, is unable to move the alarm. It is a very delicate mechanism and we are afraid that we are going to break the alarm as we tug, pull, twist and curse it to no avail. We let the agent know our concerns and she tells us it would be better off if we didn’t break it because then we would have to buy it. We agreed with her.

We were actually happy customers now except for the error notice on the console. Bob told her that the alarm seems to be working as there were no more chirping noises or heart stopping blares from the alarm. All we wanted was for the noises to stop. The noises have stopped, so we were happy to end the call there. She informed us that the noised could return after we end the call. Bob asked her to just turn off the alarm in the central system. This was, for some reason, impossible. She tried to explain. I still can’t understand her explanation but Bob seemed to. I deferred to his judgement. She told us that we need to disconnect the system’s battery to insure that the noises would stay stopped. Bob goes to where the alarm’s central system is in our house. She told him to look for the green battery. Bob doesn’t see a green battery and, on closer inspection, the battery he does find with the alarm system doesn’t appear to be connected to the system at all.

Seeing that this going nowhere fast, she tells us so schedule a tech person to come out and fix our system. Bob, thinking logically, I believe, asked her to schedule us. She can’t schedule service call, she handles customer support problems. She needed to transfer us to the scheduling department which she kindly did. The man who answers asked us for the profile information and the secret code that identifies Bob as the owner of the house. Bob explained the problem again. The scheduler was stumped because he was at a central number and this was an urgent matter. If he were to schedule through the central scheduling system it would take a week or more before he could get an open date for someone to come out to us. He said we needed to contact someone at local tech support in order to get faster service. He doesn’t understand why the central tech person transferred us to central scheduling in the first place. It would have been easier for her to have contacted the local tech person who would then call us. Why didn’t she take care of this? Bob, unfortunately, can’t explain the tech person thinking. The scheduler tells us he needs to send us back to the tech team so they can schedule someone locally. Bob asks will he have to repeat the problem. The man assures him that he won’t.

But Bob did have to give the new tech person his personal profile details and the secret code which showed he was the owner of the house. Once supplied, the new tech person was stumped because the scheduling agent sent us to the wrong company. Apparently, the parent company had gobbled up a bunch of other alarm companies so it could become the biggest alarm company in the whole damn world. So while she worked for the parent company technically, the different companies still stored their information in different computer systems. She didn’t have access to our information. She was perplexed on why the man would send us to her in the first place. Bob couldn’t help her with an answer.

She transferred us to another very nice woman who, after Bob supplies his personal details and his secret code, is from the right alarm company and can help us. She reads us the notes the other agents have been taking so we have some assurance that people have been listening to us and documenting the information. She has to notify a local tech person to schedule a visit. They will have to talk to us because they will need to squeeze us in between the already scheduled customers and will need to talk to us in person in order to do this. She tells us that this usually takes no more than 24 hours for them to return a call.

What about the chirping noise and the heart stopping blare which we haven’t heard since starting this marathon phone call and the only reason we have pursued this matter further was we wanted to make sure these noises were stopped. She didn’t really know for sure. It could work fine until the local tech person came to reset. Or the chirping and the heart stopping blare could resume after we hung up. She told us to call back if the noises began again. Bob assured her we would.

The within 24 hour response came 70 hours later. The return call was from the central tech support and not the local tech support. This was baffling since the whole reason for us asking local tech support to call us was because the central scheduling department told us it was an urgent matter and we would get a much faster service call locally. But, never mind. She then asked if we could wait a few more tiny days. Since the chirping and the heart stopping blare were quiet for now, we could. It is, however, amusing to think that if the original scheduler, who didn’t want us to wait a week for an appointment, had only scheduled an appointment when we first called him, we would have probably gotten faster service than we were going to get by waiting for the local tech support to squeeze us into their schedule. But, yet again, never mind.

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In case you are keeping track, there was no Part III as I lost my notes. I can summarize what happened though. After much trial and tribulation. I finally signed up for Health Insurance. It took me three days, 3 or so hours online, five or so phone calls at about a half hour a piece, and a fax (yes you heard correctly a fax).

The good news is I am now signed up.

Or so I thought. It is mid-January and I still haven’t received my insurance card. I called up Wage Works where I learned that I only paid them for my insurance. The insurance carrier is a totally different entity. I would need to call up the insurance company to inquire about my card.

I ask for the phone number. She tells me it was on the back of my insurance card. I told her I didn’t have an insurance card. I reminded her that was why I was calling her in the first place. She sighed deeply, the sigh of someone who knows she has to put me on hold so she can search for phone number she doesn’t readily have. It takes her five minutes of determined clicking but she finds the number I need.

A phone tree answers. This phone tree wasn’t, not for one moment, going to let me speak to a person. I listen through the phone tree until I hear my option. I push the appropriate number. The phone tree informs me that I can go to the on line site for this information. I say “Operator.” This phone tree isn’t falling for that trick. The phone tree replies, “In order to better help you, can you explain what department you want to speak with and then lists departments for me to select

I choose one. The phone tree explains that I can take care of this on line. I scream operator. The phone tree asks me what department I need and gives me the same options. I chose one. The phone tree yet again insists that I can handle this on line. I then lie to the phone tree. God, forgive me. I say I need to make a payment. The phone tree obliging sends me to an operator except that the office is on the East Coast and is now closed.

I call back Wage Works. I explain my problem to a nice woman. She will send an urgent message to the insurance company and would get back with me when she heard a reply.

She actually calls back the next day with an identifier number telling me she has contacted the insurance company. I ask for my insurance ID. She doesn’t have it but the insurance company has been informed that I urgently need my insurance card. She assumes that the insurance company will expedite sending the insurance card.

“So I should be able to call the insurance company and get my number,” I ask.

She didn’t really know for sure but maybe.

With that ringing endorsement, I call the insurance company. They don’t, as a matter of fact, have my information in their system and don’t know why I am calling. I explain that Wage Works told me to call them. The young lady transfers me to a supervisor. I explain my problem again. I don’t know why because he tells me I am not in the system and he can’t help me.

I explain that I have paid Wage Works for my insurance. Wage Works sent the information to Health Net. The man understands but he doesn’t have my information. I tell him I am concerned. I ask him what were to happen if I were in an accident. He gives me the audio equivalent of a shoulder shrug.

I ask whom should I contact. He tells me the county. I snap. I tell him the county doesn’t have anything to do with me. I haven’t given any information to the county. Why would I contact the county? He apologizes he meant to contact Wage Works, the people who I paid.

I call Wage Works and ask to speak to a supervisor. I am transferred and put on hold for ½ hour. I hear music so I think I am on hold. But it is ½ hour, maybe I have been sent to an empty office or the person doesn’t know I am on hold. I hang up and call again. I explain that I have been waiting to speak to a supervisor for ½ hour and I was worried that I might have been disconnected. She assures me that ½ hour wait for a supervisor wasn’t unusual. Very comforting news that is. She says that she will transfer me to a supervisor but will wait on line with me. Every few minutes she would interrupt the music and let me know that I was still on hold. She was good to her word. Now, at least, I knew I was waiting for a supervisor while I waited for another ½ hour.

The supervisor finally comes on the line. I explain my problem. He tells me that they have contacted the insurance company and have asked them to urgently update their system. I explain but it isn’t there and they have had this information since January 6. He says that it takes 5 to 10 business days. I tell him that it has been 21 days. He says that they are probably behind because January is the month they receive the most new members. Since Wage Works just recently sent an urgent request to update my record why don’t we wait until Friday to see if they act?

“What am I supposed to do if I am in an accident,” I ask. I don’t have an insurance card to give them. He gives me an audio shoulder shrug.

“What am I supposed to do if I call back on Friday and the insurance company still doesn’t have my details in their system.” Audio shoulder shrugs all around. I ask him if he could contact someone at the insurance company to investigate this. He says no. All he does is send information via the computer. It is up to the insurance company to put the new customer in the system.

“What if there is a communication breakdown where his company sends information and the insurance company doesn’t receive it. Silence. “You don’t have anyone you can contact at the insurance company?” The answer is no.

I am not sick. Yet. After Friday, I might, however, be in an insane asylum. Hopefully, but not certainly, insured.

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When last we left our hero, he needed to determine the decision date for continuation of his medical insurance. He tried using all the written documentation and the on line information provided.   He learned absolutely nothing about the decision due date. He goes to bed pledging to renew his battle the next day.

Thinking it would be a simple phone call, I call WageWorks, the insurance company, approximately an hour before I needed to depart for a lunch date. I also figure in a quick shower within this hour. After all, I have plenty of time and all I want is a lousy date.

I call WageWorks which goes to a call center that is obviously not in the United States. I explain to the woman that what I need. She immediately puts me on hold. Every few minutes, she checks back with me explaining that she is looking for the answer. I wait patiently, listening to the on hold music which is really bad. I mean it is really really bad. It sounds like a recording of a painfully untalented six year old. Every so once in awhile, the keys are pounded vigorously, and then short but frequent gaps of no music when I imagine the prodigy is trying to find his place on the sheet music, then either a tentative ting on the key or a hammer like pound on the ivories. I put my phone on speaker and renew my own search for the date on line.

After about fifteen minutes of bad piano, the woman returns to the line and explains that she can only help with HSA accounts and that I would need to call my former employer to see how to handle my COBRA account. I reply that my document states I need to contact them. She says only for HSA accounts. My document doesn’t say that. Her command of English deteriorates as our conversation continues. Realizing I am getting nowhere with her and knowing that my old companies call center is in the US, I decide to try them. After all, all I want is a lousy date.

The benefit’s representative asks me for my employee number. I explain that I am no longer an employee. I am calling about COBRA benefits. She says they don’t handle COBRA. I tell her that I was told to call my former employer as WageWorks didn’t have this information. She tries pulling my details through my social security number. Nothing appears on her screen. She explains that she will need to find someone who can help me.

The second woman listens to every painful detail of my story before deciding that she too would be unable to help me. She puts me on hold while she locates someone who can help. I patiently wait. The on hold music, however, is quite tolerable. It is easy listening instrumentals of classic rock that seem to be performed by professional musicians.   In the interim, I received a text message saying that my lunch date needs an additional 15 minutes, which I am glad to have gotten the reminder as I had kind of forgotten about my date. I check the clock. I have about ten minutes before I have to leave. I am already committed to the phone call , so I opt to wait for the representative to return and I will go to my lunch smelly and scruffy.

While I am rearranging my schedule to accommodate this phone call, a third woman comes on line with a strained voice of someone who is about to deliver bad news. I wait. She explains that they have outsourced the Health Insurance elections for Cobra to a company called WageWorks and that I would need to call them. I tell her that WageWorks just told me to call my former employer. She wearily responds, “I know that.” I am frustrated. I tell her all I want is a lousy date. “Can’t you do anything for me?” She sighs. She would like to help but she doesn’t have any of my information. I needed to call WageWorks. Wageworks has all of my information.

Then I remembered that WageWorks indeed has all of my information as I was able to register last night and the system filled in all of the blanks with my name, address, phone number and even my bank’s routing information. Since they were delivered all of this private information with the anticipation of me signing up for benefits, they certainly must be able to help me. I am registered. Armed with this new information I feel ready to tackle WageWorks and get my decision date. Except now I have run out of time and need to leave for lunch. Part of me thinks that this will be easy, it will take one second to get this information. Then, the other part of me, the rational, reality-based Tom realizes that this is not going to take a minute and I decide to tackle this assignment after lunch. I leave unshowered, unshaved and frustrated for lunch.

So after trying for little more than an hour yesterday evening and another hour this morning, I still don’t know when I need to make my decision.

Stay tuned for Part III — the third and final installment.

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All I wanted was a due date.

My Health Care company sent me a 40-page document explaining the big changes in coverage for 2018. One small but important detail was missing from this opus – the date that my decision was due. This date was extremely important because the document stated, in no uncertain terms, that if I missed the closing date that they would make my health plan selection for me.

I was certain the date would be somewhere in the colorful charts and graphs liberally displayed throughout the 40 pages. I mean who writes a 40-page document with constant warnings about the due date and not give the due. I skimmed the document quickly. The decision date was missing. I carefully and slowly reread the document and I found my answer. Wait, that’s not true. I found some wording that pointed to an answer – it said check the WageWorks web site for the closing date with yet another warning about being prompt about my decision or else.

This meant I had to reread the document yet again. Much to my chagrin, I don’t find a website address. I do notice, however, that every time the document had the word WageWorks that it was in a different color print much like if you were reading a document on line. The brightly colored print highlights the hyperlinked words. If I were reading on line, all I would have to do is click the hyperlink. The only problem is I was reading a print document. Clicking on a piece of paper takes me no where. I do try in case I was wrong because I hate when you talk to a help desk person and they snarl something like, “you didn’t try to click on the print document.” And, of course, you feel like a complete idiot when the action you thought was obviously wrong was in fact the right thing to do. You will be happy to know, I was correct. There is no need to click a hyperlink in a print document. It will not send you to the web site.

After taking a fourth look at the document, I surrendered and googled WageWorks. I found the WageWork web address and went  to the site. There was a lot of positive feedback about the company and what it was doing, it’s goals, etc. but I failed to locate a closing date for my medical insurance decision. I am doing this all at midnight so their help desk is closed. I read something that leads me to believe that if I register with WageWorks, everything I ever wanted to know about Wageworks would be then revealed to me. I figure I would have to register eventually so I register. To my shock, it is easy. Wageworks has all of my information. I type in F and Fitzpatrick appears. I type in T and Thomas appears. All I have to do is confirm if they have the correct information. I carry on until I see my bank account number and my banks routing information.

This upsets me. How did they get my banking information? I didn’t give it to them. I never even heard of Wageworks until I opened the document they sent me. I try to close out of the document but they have hidden the little X in the corner that will close you out. After hitting escape and various other keys without luck, I decide what the hell they already have the information. I am not keeping them from anything and I will probably have to register with them and they will need this information anyway. Why not complete the registration and I can talk to them tomorrow and straighten things out. I depress the enter key and voila, I am registered.

Except registering doesn’t give me access to any more information than I had when I was unregistered. The due date is still missing. There is a tab called questions. I depress it. The screen changes but there is no little box where you type your question. Maybe it is hidden in one of the other tabs. I click through them seeing if there is a box for me to type my question or, better yet, a due date for my decision.

I try a different web browser because I have had this problem with a different company and learned that if you change your browser, sometimes everything works as designed. Which is annoying and I brought this up to the help desk person who offered this solution. “How am I supposed to know which browser I should be using?” She cheerfully replied, “Oh you can’t.” I pointed out that her company’s preferred solution in handling this known problem was to wait for the customer to become so frustrated and angry that they are forced to seek assistance from the help desk. She cheerfully informed me that this problem had been escalated to the highest level of the company and that we should expect a solution any day.

I could go on about this customer service problem but I digress from the customer service I was original talking about. I don’t want to be confusing. Really, I don’t. Any way, I try a different browser. Complete and utter failure. I can’t see a due date and I can’t find a question box. At this point, I surrender. I realize I am going to have to contact them in the morning. Except that I am wired now and I can’t get to sleep. I am grinding my teeth and imagining the pithy statements I will be making tomorrow once I finally reach a person who can take me out of this Hell. Or not.

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Is it my imagination or has American Customs and Immigration become needlessly slow with long lines, redundant tasks, and baffling processes that seems to have no benefit, certainly for the traveller, but also to the agencies gathering the information.

Here is my recent experience.

Bob and I land in Atlanta at 2:30PM. Our flight to San Diego leaves at 6:10. This leaves a comfortable three and half hours layover at Hartsfield. We even joke about having too much time for a layover.

Our gate is approximately a ten minute walk to the Immigration line entrance. Not a bad idea after being on a plane for 9 hours and restrooms at nice intervals. So far so good.

We read the entrance to line. There is a very sensible division American/Canadian/Green card holders/ Visa holders go to the right and all other passport holders go to the left. I understand perfectly. Or do I? I move to the right where a woman in uniform tells me I need to go to the left. I explain that I am an American and point to the sign. She gives me the tired and frustrated look of an overworked bureaucrat who has been asked the same question all day is extremely irritated to have to reply for the thousandth time. “And I am telling you today you need to go to the left.” She didn’t look like someone in the mood for a follow up question; we moved to the line on the left.

It is 2:45PM

I am worried because I can see passport holder on the right with theirAmerican passports. On the plus side, the line is moving reasonably fast, and we spy another Customs official at the front of this line who seems to be giving instructions to people when they reach him. We have plenty of time and can afford a few minutes in the wrong line and he will move us to correct line and all will be well.

The line snakes through like an amusement park line with cut backs at a rapid enough clip to maintain my confidence that this will all be over soon. We finally reach the front of the line where I explain we are Americans. The man tells me to get into the line on the right. I stifle an urge to ask why the other Customs official told us to get into the line on the left as we have spent the last 15 minutes in the wrong line, only be told now to join the correct line for American passport holders. However I confused I am, I know enough not to challenge a bureaucrat under stress. This could put me in a very long line to nowhere. More importantly, I am confident that we are now in the correct line.

It is 3:00PM

The line slows significantly with short spurts of movement interspersed with long spans of gridlock. Still, with two hours to go, confident that we have plenty of time. While snaking through the line, I reach the point where I would have entered the line 15 minutes earlier. I overhear a young immigration employee asks the uniformed woman who directed everyone to the left “why don’t we just direct American passport holders to the right, why are we telling them to go to the left? This doesn’t make any sense.” YES. I wholeheartedly agree. My ears perk up because, if nothing else, I might get an explanation for this misrouting. Unfortunately, she responds to him in a muted supervisory tone why. I unfortunately am unable to hear her reply. I do, however, feel my sanity is confirmed when the young man, who speaks in much more clearer and louder tone to assist with my eavesdropping, remains unconvinced by her explanation, “ I still don’t understand but whatever you say, you are the boss.”

It is 3:15PM

The line moves forward in fits and starts. A very happy immigration official keeps us entertained by loudly directing us with snappy inspirational instructions and song. He sings, “Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back.” He gives jovial instructions and tries to engage us in conversation, “This line is for American passport holders with a Delta connection, tell me what is a Delta connection?” No one responds. “I can’t hear you,” he yells enthusiastically. A few passengers weakly reply not in unison and not very loudly so I am not sure what they say but it seems to satisfy him as he bellows, “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. You flew in on a Delta flight and you are flying out on a Delta flight. I don’t think anyone actually said this but then I couldn’t hear anything. Everyone in this part of the line seems amused with him though as he is trying to lighten the drudgery of standing in a long line for a long time with song, with light hearted questions. I wonder why every customs office doesn’t have such a happy worker greeting incoming passengers.

It is 3:30PM.

We are about six feet from the happy immigration man, I now want to gag him. Or anything that would shut him up. His mouth moves incessantly. An endless flood of words. His ever evolving routine is now about how great Atlanta is and how lucky you are to be in the greatest city in the whole wide world with occasional outbursts of “Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back.” His song is like a knife through my tired skull. I, however stifle my irritation, because I am almost to the front of the line. The end is near.

It is 3:45PM.

When I reach the front of the line, I am directed to one of the hundreds of computer terminals. As I don’t travel internationally much, I am unsure what to do. The instructions on the terminal say to insert my passport into a slot to start the process. After several mistakes I manage to get the passport properly slotted and I successfully complete the on line customs form. I am on a roll until the terminal instructs me to use the terminal to take a picture of myself. The instructions are clear. The picture must have my full face with my eyes open looking into the screen. The camera is far from intuitive. In the first picture my forehead is missing. I retake but this time my chin missing. I try again but this one my eyes are closed. I keep taking pictures and discarding, hoping for a full face with my eyes open. Bob comes by to see what is taking me so long. I show him my latest photograph. He says that immigration official told him not to worry about the picture. Just take what I have and get into the next line where an immigration will collect my picture and custom form. I print my picture with my forehead missing and my eyes firmly closed and join yet another line.

It is 4:00PM.

The immigration official doesn’t even look at my photograph. He eyeballs me and then my passport. He decided I matched my passport photo. Now I can’t understand why I took the trouble and time to take a picture in the first place if he wasn’t going to bother to look at. I thought this was the whole point. That there was some computer program that matches this photograph with my immigration photo and determine if they match. I was kind of impressed with all of up-to-date technology made to catch the ne’re-do-wells of the world. But no, I was wrong, it all boiled down to the immigration officials eyeballs. Why did I spend the last 10 minutes taking the picture if it was all up to him in the first place? Time is slipping away so I again skip questioning him about it. We run to collect our baggage which has been on the luggage carousel long enough to gather dust. I pick it up and run a few feet to chuck it onto a conveyer belt in front of about ten customs official who all look like they would rather be having a cigarette. They point me to another line.

It is 4:15PM.

Yes, you heard correctly, another line. Why? I can’t understand. I gave immigration my customs documents and he looked at my passport over and custom guys missed their opportunity to search my luggage as I already sent the luggage back to Delta. Can’t I just run frantically to my gate? What else needs to be done? Bob tells me that we are going through security. Which baffles me. I just got off of a plane which was secure, why do I need to go through security yet again. Because once I left the plane and went to Customs and Immigration, I left a secure environment and entered into an unsecure environment.

Which seems a rather unnecessary step to add to passengers who, after all, are trying to catch a connecting flight. Doesn’t it make more sense to have the hundred or so Immigration and Customs employees go through security when they come to work and just make the Immigration and Customs section of the airport secure? Instead of requiring thousands of already vetted passengers at the nations busiest airport go through security yet again when they are under a looming time crunch to meet their connecting flights? I yell into the abyss and, of course, join the security line.

It is 4:30PM.

I am now getting really worried that we will miss our connecting flight. Other passengers obviously have the same worry, so several passengers take turns going to the TSA official and explaining their concerns. She, after several such encounters, yells out to everyone in the security line that getting out of line and asking her about your looming connecting flight won’t make the line move any faster, just stay in line and TSA will get you through as quickly as possible. I hate to call someone a liar but I will. She is a liar. We could plainly see that, on a rare occasion, someone would come up to her and after irritatingly listening to their query she directs them out of the line into another line which, to my untrained eyes, seems to be moving faster. I wonder what the time threshold for joining the faster line is because very few people are invited in. As we are still over an hour before we need to be at the gate, Bob and I opt to stay in line and keep our fingers crossed. The line moves reasonably fast and we make it through security at 4:45PM where we frantically run to our gate. The good news is I had roughly 10 minutes to toss down a martini before our plane boarded.

Two hours and fifteen minutes.