The wicked ways of Sprint...

Author's notes: Apparently, this column was too "hot" for my newspaper to run. I mean, what interests could a newspaper possibly have in exposing the confusing and customer-unfriendly antics of a major U.S. corporation, right?

Customer service.

Yes, it's two fairly simple nouns, sort of mundane and, for the most part, driven far into the ground thanks to innocuous television commercials and corporate mouthpieces. Whether it's your hometown mechanic letting you know he's ready to take care of your automotive problems or the cable company bragging on their support technicians, the phrase gets tossed around endlessly.

One company that absolutely loves to use the phrase is my cell phone carrier, Sprint. You know, the guys with that really cool black and yellow logo who love to brag about offering the only truly “unlimited” data plans in the smartphone industry.

Now, if mention of Sprint has you frowning — or downright defeated like a george Foreman fan watching Ali rope-a-dope your boxing hero during the famous Rumble in the Jungle — you're not alone, as recent outages in the Big Spring and surrounding areas are leaving Sprint customers anything except satisfied. Apparently, the cell phone carrier's rather large well of customer service has, well, run dry.

So, here's the short and skinny version. Nearly a week ago, many Sprint customers noticed they could neither make or receive calls, send or receive text messages or access the famed “unlimited” data services, turning their $600 smart phones into rather snazzy paper weights. Granted, if you had music downloaded onto your SD memory card you could at least listen to your tunes, possibly making the phone the world's most expensive MP3 player.

Calling Sprint is, in itself, an adventure, mind you. First, you get to navigate an automated phone system that would have Lewis and Clark more turned around than my girlfriend on the New Jersey turnpike. You get transferred from financial services to tech support, then to residential services and back, finally, to financial services, which continually chides you for not choosing an option from their menu.

Eventually — and I use the word very, very loosely — you'll get a live person on the phone who will have you answer a dozen different security questions, from your mother's maiden name to your blood type. And then, my friends, the fun really begins.

Shortly after our service went down, myself and about a half-dozen people on my Facebook friends list began calling and sharing the information relayed to us by the Sprint staff. One person was told a single cell tower was down, but don't worry, service would be back up in less than 24 hours. I was told there were actually three towers down and, according to the work ticket in the Sprint system, the problem with our service would be resolved by the end of July. A third person was told, without missing a beat, Sprint had no idea what was wrong and no idea when service would be restored.

That last Sprint agent may sound like a jerk, but in the end, he may have been the most honest one out of them all.

And so, we continued to call Sprint and share information as the service outage went two, three, four and then five days. At that point, it appeared at least one of the towers had been fixed, as Sprint customers living in or traveling to the northern part of Big Spring began receiving a signal. However, those of us in the central and southeast part of the city were still thrust into the Dark Ages, forced to live without the communications we had come to expect and, for the most part, need.

And that brings us to today, six days into our smartphone blackout, cut off from friends and family for nearly a week now. We're also a good 24 hours past the last repair deadline a Sprint noodle-head gave us.

I have to admit, there has been an aspect of this struggle with one of the world's largest cell carriers that has been, at best, morbidly entertaining. Most of us have experienced this at some point in our lives, when someone or some corporate idiot has told us something so blatantly offensive that, instead of getting angry, we descend into a sense of shock that is, for all intents and purposes, hilarious.

My moment came at day five, when I spoke with a Sprint financial department supervisor. My request was simple: Let me out of my contract and waive the $300 to $400 penalty so I could switch over to Verizon, which was unaffected by the down towers. His answer was, without a doubt, one of the most idiotic things I've heard in a long time, and that is certainly saying something.

“I'm sorry Mr. Jenkins, but I simply can not let you out of your Spring contract right now because the level of your quality of service isn't low enough,” the stuffed shirt told me. I was so taken aback, I descended into silence, which those of you who know me doesn't happen very often, if ever.

“Are you still there, Mr. Jenkins?” he asked.

“My quality of service?” I asked.

“Yes sir. The system looks at the service you receive and then rates it. It has to fall below a certain point before we can let you out of your contract,” he said with what I can only imagine was a completely straight face.

“My quality of service?” I said again, still somewhat shocked. “Sir, I don't have any service. If I want to use my phone, I basically have to get into my car and drive to the other side of town. How would you rate that?”

“Sir, I apologize for the problems and I understand your frustration,” he said, obviously catching on to my growing sense of amazement.

“All I want is a phone that works,” I said, my voice giving way to the hopelessness of the situation. “My dad has a flip phone with Verizon that's about 15 years old, and it works. He can make and receive calls … well, unless they are to or from me. And you're telling me my quality of service is to high? After nearly a week of this?”

Needless to say, I'm still under contract with Sprint, although Mr. Mouthpiece did tell me I could check back in about a week and see if my quality of service had fallen enough to let me out of my deal with Satan. I suppose two weeks without service might do the trick, although I'm not holding my breath.

Yes, customer service, my good folks. Because Sprint wants me to know they care about me and my loved ones. Well, unless caring means being able to communicate with one another or even the ability to dial 911 in an emergency. Then, obviously, Sprint couldn't possibly care less.

As a bit of a footnote to this column, I find it worth mentioning what caused this outage. According to Mr. Mouthpiece, it wasn't suicide bombers simultaneously driving their SUVs into the three Sprint towers. No, they were shut down so the company could make improvements and upgrades to them. In other words, Sprint knew full well — in advance, mind you — all three towers would be, to some degree, shut down.

That, my friends and family, is what I call first class planning.

And here I sit, still without service, even as I write this column. Sure, the inability to check the Internet Movie Database (IMDB) to see if Dax Shepard wrote and directed “Hit and Run” is annoying, but it's not the end of the world.

On the other hand, my father not being able to get in touch with me when my mother — who has been ill for quite some time now — needs to go to the hospital? Yeah, I think you get the picture.

After being a Sprint customer for more than 10 years, I think it's safe to say the company still doesn't understand the meaning of customer service, and, at this point, likely never will. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to listen to some tunes on my $600 Sprint-crippled MP3 player.

Deadbeat parents and entertaining distractions ...

The internet has become a huge part of my life. Much larger than I imagined it would when I got my first PC, but not exactly at the “living in virtual reality 23 hours a day” level my parents predicted. You know, the eventual downfall of the human race.

So, near the top of my browser I have a series of bookmarks for my favorite and most visited websites. From my personal blog — gotta keep one eye on that number of hits, right? — to Facebook and LifeHacker online magazine, I like to think of it as my “short list” of sites I can't necessarily live without.

One of the bookmarks on my short list is the Texas Attorney General's website, which includes a portal for parents to keep track of their child support payments and that sort of thing.

Thank goodness Google is nice enough to remember my username and password, because a crew of Al-Qaeda suicide bombers couldn't scare it from my subconscious, where it quietly resides, adjacent to all of the things my daughter has told me but I'll pretend I never heard.

Now, I'm sure for some parents this particular website is a thing of beauty, a beacon of fiscal hope shining its light into the deep, dark bowels of inequity. Unfortunately, I imagine it's the same for me as it is for most custodial parents trying to get a less-than-responsible ex to cough up their child support … an entertaining distraction.

For those of you lucky enough to have never visited the site, let me lay it out for you.

First, you enter your case ID number and password. For the record, it took nearly two months and numerous phone calls just to get the stupid thing set up, but that's a story for another day.

Once you're logged in, you're greeted by a bevy of handy information. It gives you a list of the payments which have been sent to the attorney general, including how much they were and when they were received. It also gives you a “case status,” but judging from the ambiguous nature of it, I imagine most everyone's reads the same:

“Your case is currently in the enforcement process. We use several methods to collect child support. Our office may withhold wages, unemployment insurance benefits, worker's compensation, military allotment, and other sources of periodic income. For those parents who have fallen behind in their payments we may use collection letters and calls, interception of income tax refunds, credit bureau reporting, license suspension, administrative liens and interception of lottery winnings.”

Now, if you've ever actually had to track down and try to get a parent to pay their child support, you know there's a secret code at word beneath the surface of this simple statement. What it should read is:

“Your case is hopeless, at best. We have several methods at our disposal to collect child support, but the chances we'll actually use any of them in anything that resembles an efficient manner is little to none. For those parents who have fallen behind in their payments, you can stop worrying. Worst case scenario, you might spend the night in jail. In all, if you're hoping to receive any sort of child support payment through these efforts, you had best hope the non-custodial parent plays the lottery. A lot.”

However, the most entertaining part of the site — at least in my opinion — is the “arrears” section, which is just a fancy way of saying the “deadbeat” section. This is where you get to see just how far behind your former significant other is on their child support.

I recently reached a milestone, as the non-custodial party in my case surpassed the $16,000 mark. That's right. During the past six to seven years, she has accrued $16,230.02 in back child-support. Say what you will, but the woman is incredibly consistent.

Just for the record, if I were her I'd pay the 2 cents, simply because I can't stand pennies. Seriously, she could just snag them from the “leave a penny, take a penny” thing at 7-Eleven.

I suppose the entertainment in all of this comes from having watched that number steadily grow over the years. I can remember a time when I was in absolute amazement she had reached $10,000 and hadn't so much as gotten a slap on the wrist from the courts.

However, after several court dates and the presiding judge sounding much like I imagine British police officers sound — “Pay your child support, or in three months we'll come back to this courtroom and I'll tell you to pay your child support again!” — it's hard to believe what has and hasn't happened.

Despite being placed on probation and threatened with 180 days in jail on three separate occasions, her first no-nonsense sentence from the judge was for 10 days in jail, which ended up being less than five days after she behaved herself. That's taking a hard-line stance against deadbeat parents if I've ever seen one.

So, every so often I'll log into my OAG account online to see how high the child support lotto has gotten in my case. I imagine what it would be like if I actually got a check for that amount and what kinds of improvements it could help make for my little girl, who is 13 years old now and harboring a serious case of resentment toward deadbeat parents in general.

Sometimes I like to smile and envision Miss Deadbeat buying a lottery ticket — a winning lottery ticket, mind you — and being forced by the state to pay up what she owes. Granted, I'm sure the state could find a away to screw that up, but, hey … it's a fantasy, so back off and let me dream.

Unfortunately, I'm smart enough to know that day will never come. So, for now, I'll just keep logging on to the OAG website and watching the deadbeat-deficit grow the first of each month, tipping my hat to the attorney general's office and their fantastic record keeping and impotent attempts to do their job.

You know, if the males in this state were as impotent as the Texas OAG, we'd have a lot fewer deadbeat parents. Hey, it's just a thought.