The customer service at Verizon is so bad that while you're waiting, the automated woman repeatedly encourages you to get off the phone. I tried to follow this excellent advice, but in the online circle of hell known as My Verizon, my PIN was locked. I found this remarkable, as I never signed up for My Verizon, a place I imagine to be as pleasant as a penitentiary shower (that inaccurately provides the temperature in your metropolitan area).
I entered my Verizon Account Number so many times I know it better than my birthday. There's a neat little wrinkle on the automated call center where every time you enter your Verizon Account Number, it asks for the number again. It's like "Waiting for Godot," if Godot were a PIN number (spoiler alert: the PIN never shows up).
You might wonder what I was trying to do. I was trying to pay them. My failing bank was bought by a somewhat more solvent bank, and all my direct deposit information changed. Changing this information elsewhere runs from easy (T-Mobile) to mildly annoying (Long Island Power). At Verizon, I would describe the process as suicide inducing.
The third human being I spoke to--I spoke to many robots, all of which were bad listeners that constantly asked me to repeat myself--was willing to take my money. Indeed, she seemed indignant when I suggested she might not be able to do something as challenging as enter a routing and account number. Neither of us mentioned the elephant in the room called My Verizon. Let us never speak of this dark place again.
