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.