We feel your pain, console owner
Please let it end! I’m unable to handle any more media coverage from Neverland or Staples or outside the hospital or anywhere else where fanatics gather.
Now on to other more pressing matters. One of our consoles (those units that replace TV reruns as a way to lose your mind) has “died on the battlefield”. The Red Ring Of Death (sounds like something Poe might have composed) means that we’re now involved with the mysterious warranty division of the company whose name I dare not speak.
The first sign that this may be something more than a routine request for RMA came when my son first visited the website devoted to consoling owners of consoles that have succombed to slipshod workmanship and cost analysis. Fill in your name, and address, and everything else that will set you out in the public place as “individual” AND include the serial number of the unit. Except. The menus know about Canada; it’s just that a postal code is so inherently different from a zip code that the system rejects them out of hand (key, whatever).
Telephones are still an alternative, and after phoning the hotline, listening to the misdirection and pretending that I had a billing dispute, I was transferred from desk to desk until I found someone who could enter our “registration” into their database system. Oddly enough, he couldn’t tell me where he was, not even in what state. A sign of slave labour if I ever saw such a thing. Obviously the call centre is a windowless prison from which people never venture afield.
The next call promised to send us further information. I’ll keep you posted…
