I had no idea my little war with Virgin Media would prove so popular! As requested, the text of the infamous email is below. However I do believe I should provide some context to the situation first. I have Virgin Media for television, broadband and home telephone. I never use the home telephone (except for when I answer telemarketing calls for “Curtis”, something that is happening with increasing frequency). The broadband tends to work okay, except for when it doesn’t. And when that happens I just chalk it up to “England”, and wait 20-30 minutes. Voila, it comes back good as new. Up until recently, I’ve had no issues with my cable television (other than the fact I had to install it myself rather than wait the standard Slovakian 3 months that it normally takes in these here parts).
So I was out of town for the past two weeks, during which time I guess my love for cheesy television shows caused my Virgin Media V+ box to just go psycho. I returned to discover that none of my shows were recorded (no Vampire Diaries, no Nikita, no Mentalist, no Criminal Minds) and that, even better, my TV was stuck on FIVEUSA. My remote control would not change the channel, no matter how many times I replaced the batteries or unplugged and rebooted the V+ box. Knowing the pain that is Virgin Customer Care, I tried nearly every option – before I accepted the inevitable and picked up my home phone last night and dialed 150. The secret code for Virgin phone customers that gives you a direct line to customer service. Or so I thought.
What happened was a bit like that scene in Back to the Future where Marty and the Doc are high fiving each other because the dog came back from a minute into the future… and then the Libyans show up all fired up over some plutonium. Ok, bad example, but it still felt like an ambush.
I dialed 150, navigated through the labyrinthine automated menu, only to be greeted by a male human voice speaking a language I have never heard in my life. “Excuse me, sir?” I asked. “Did I call Virgin Media?” I did not understand the response, and indicated as such. And so, in the tradition of morons everyone, he began jabbering LOUDER at me, as if that would help. I pointed out – again – that I could not understand him. This went on and on, with me requesting to speak to someone who spoke English and him yelling at me. Finally, he just hung up on me.
I was irritated, but willing to give Virgin a pass. Everyone has bad days, and working in a call center has to suck. So I called back – picked up my home phone and hit those three magic numbers once again. This time I got a woman… who was no more understandable than the man. What I did discern was that she had major attitude problem. I’m talking Jackee in 227 attitude problem. I’m talking Lil’ Kim after jail attitude problem. She didn’t even really give me a chance, just began screaming at me and then hung up.
Now I was getting pissed off. I called again, punching those numbers in the automated system with controlled fury. I got a guy this time – who still was not intelligible. I tried to discern what he was saying, or where I was calling, but it literally sounded like he was speaking a language that has yet to have been discovered. I kept saying, “Sir, I have no idea what you’re saying to me. If you can understand me, can you please direct me to someone who speaks English?”. This went on for 14 minutes (I counted) before he simply screamed “AAAAAAARGGGHuuuuuiuhhyYOOOOOU” in the phone and hung up.
Ok, now I was really pissed, approaching DEFCON 2 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/DEFCON). I called back again. Lesser men may have given up, but not me. I was on a mission and I was about to make someone feel the pain. This time I got a guy, who kept trying to tell me his name was “Rupert”. Um, not in this lifetime buddy, unless Rupert is a name commonly used by people in a country where they speak a language that sounds somewhere between the guy in the Simpsons who works at the Qwickie Mart + Klingon + drunken Polish. I had had enough at this point. I explained to him that I could not understand him, that I’m sure he was trying hard, but that I desperately needed to speak to someone who spoke English so I could get my damn TV fixed. I explained that I lived in the UK, and as such, expected to speak to people who spoke English. (At this point, I would have even settled for Geordie) I did not sign up for Virgin Whateverthehellcountryyou’rein, I signed up for Virgin Media UK. I have no idea what “Rupert” thought of this since I could not understand a damn word he said. After repeating myself six times (I counted, making tick marks on the back of a minicab flyer, each tick getting increasingly darker and more ragged), he finally put me on hold. I sat mute, hoping beyond hope I would get a nice supervisor who spoke English. I could be accented English – I didn’t care. I just wanted to hear something I recognised.
Alas, ‘twas not to be. I received a woman who identified herself as the “zoopwerwyyyysuher” and proceeded to yell and jabber at me for a good minute or so. I could only make out a few words, from which I used my context clues (learned in 4th grade… thanks Mrs. Bolin!) to piece together that she thought I was an asshole who hated people with accents (not kidding). I tried to explain that I had mass love for everyone, but that I wanted to find someone who spoke English. My argument was that if I habla’ed Espanol, I’d get someone who could habla away with me. Therefore I wanted someone who could speak English – plain and simple. “But klajfileuaflkdjaklfjdlkajflkdjalkakljdlaj!!!” she screamed at me. When I explained I couldn’t understand her, she said, in a painstainkingly slow pronunciation “youuuuuuueh lllliiiieeeeeeeee”.
Well, ladies and gents, that just set me off. I had been calm until then, but my blood was boiling. However, age and wisdom prevailed (and more honestly, fatigue, as I had been at this now for 45 minutes) and so I tried to remain calm. I tried to work with old girl, even telling her that since she couldn’t speak English, if she could spell the letters, we could try to communicate that way. So thus went the next 20 minutes of my life.
Her: “alkdjlkajflkdjlkfjadlkjflakjfkdlajfkldajflkdjalkfjad”
Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I have no idea what you just said. Could you spell it please?”
Her: “Wuuuh-ahahaich-ahhh-tuh zeee-ehhh-ehhh-muuuuu-zeeee tooooo buh zuh kaljdlkajfkldjalkfjdakljfldakjlakj”
Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m moving a bit slow. If my Hooked on Phonics serves me well, are you trying to ask me What seems to be …something or other?”
And so, and so forth. Until I had explained my issue and she had spelled out some sort of half-ass resolution. Which still made no sense. At this point, I had been dealing with this mess for 1h 14m, and was near an Incredible Hulk level of rage. I chose to just smile, nod and hang up rather than fight the good fight.
But I couldn’t resist. I tried one more time… and this time on the magic 150 line, I got someone in the UK. Or at least with a UK-style accent. And I let loose, boy did I let loose. If you think the above was harsh, you should have heard me – pacing my living room in my boxer shorts and T-shirt, cup of green tea in hand, hair all wild and filled with the fiery fury of a thousand dying suns. Hence, the £50 credit.
Most people would have been happy to stop there.
I am not. most. people.
I decided to send one of my famous email missives, reproduced for your viewing pleasure below. The result of said email was a phone call today from Virgin Customer Care (in the UK, natch) and an additional £45 credit being added to my account. There was also quite a bit of apologising. I pointed out that while I appreciated the credit and the apologies, what I would appreciate more is a call centre where people speak English. Well, apparently their computer systems allow them to track the people who answered my call (who naturally didn’t record any notes in my file, of course)… this is because I called from the Virgin batphone (my home phone). So I know a few crazy ass foreigners who are not having a good day right now… *evil grin
I didn’t consider the following email to be my finest piece of work – it was written in anger – and even now in copying it, I have to resist the urge to edit, to finesse, to improve. But here it is… over-the-top, furious and quite entertaining with a bit of distance. I hope you enjoy. I know I’ll sure enjoy my two months of free service!
The Email
“Dear Virgin Customer Care:
I am writing this letter to complain about the horrendous service I received while dialling Customer Care (150 from my home phone) on Sunday, 6th March. My account number is ******** and I have been a Virgin Media Customer since October 2011.
I attempted to contact your Customer Care department, as directed by your website, to report a fault with my Virgin Media V+ Box. I ended up spending 1h 15m on the phone, during which I spoke with five of your “representatives” – three of which yelled at me, insulted me and hung up on me.
The larger issue is not the unconscionable abuse I received from your employees, but rather the fact that not one of the five representatives with whom I spoke had a proper command of the English language. To be clear, I’m not referring to bad grammar, or a heavy accent, or even a speech impediment. I am referring to the fact that each of them sounded like an emissary from a foreign country populated by rude, incompetent and mentally unbalanced radicals. I realise that sounds extreme, but I encourage you to search your records for your calls. I made my first call at 21:08 GMT from my landline, ***********. Subsequent calls followed thereafter as I was continuously screamed at and hung upon.
As an American living in the United Kingdom, I have come to terms with the poor levels of customer service offered by companies. I have realised that what I would consider to be absolutely intolerable and unacceptable is simply the norm. I have spent hours arguing with customer care representatives from all sorts of industry – utilities, department stores, estate agencies – just to be granted what I consider to be the basic minimum of acceptable customer support. However, at no time have I ever been so offended, insulted and abused as when I called your Customer Care office for assistance.
For a company that likes to maintain that you are committed to customer care, the actions of your employees speak otherwise. I strongly doubt your company mission or vision involves hiring unintelligible associates who make a practice of abusing and insulting your customers. I switched from Sky because of their horrible customer service. It was extremely depressing to realise that I preferred dealing with them, because a) at least I could understand them when they refused to support my needs and b) they never insulted, screamed at or hung up on me.
I realise that I am just one customer of many and that if I leave your service, you will not suffer greatly. However, what I can promise you is that I will trumpet my cause far and wide. One of me may not cause a problem. A hundred may raise eyebrows. If I can communicate to a thousand – or more – of your customers, then you are facing real issues. Because everyone knows that the power of one dissatisfied customer outweighs even the best marketing or retention campaign (I should know, I’m in that industry). I can assure you that if my issues are not resolved to my satisfaction, that I will leverage the power of my extensive social networks to share my horrible experience with your company.
In today’s political environment, I doubt the hard working taxpayers of the UK would be pleased to know that jobs are being shipped offshore and taken from their reach – only to have those self-same UK taxpayers be insulted and abused by people who don’t even have a 10 year old’s command of the English language.
I expect a representative of your company to contact me immediately to resolve this issue. I look forward to learning how you will be addressing the grievous errors perpetrated by your “representatives” as well as to how you plan on retaining my business.
Regards… “
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