You know what I love about cell phones? You can use them to talk to other people. That’s kind of the whole point. OK, I know they’re also for surfing the web, navigating, and surprising women with pictures of your naughty bits (guys, here’s a helpful tip – no woman has EVER thought “Today’s been a good day. But you know what I could really go for right now? An unsolicited picture of Johnny’s wonder weasel”). But the MAIN reason most of us have cell phones is so we can pick one up, have it send magic signals into space, and then hear someone’s voice on the other end. Simple enough. Unless you deal with Vodacom in South Africa.
No matter where you go in South Africa, you’ll see Vodacom’s name splashed across buildings, sports teams, and infants. It would be more fitting to see their logo on giant, steaming piles of dog crap because that would give a better indication of their service.
Let me be clear about something: I hate talking on the phone. It’s not that I have phone anxiety or that I can’t hear properly or anything. It’s just that I genuinely, truly dislike people, and the less time I need to spend listening to someone I loathe talking about something I probably don’t care about the better. But when I HAVE to talk on the phone, I’d rather be able to get the conversation out of the way without the need to call back several times because the phone cuts out.
I’m serious here- Vodacom drops calls like a redheaded baby. I get it- we can’t expect great signal everywhere. But surely we can expect it SOMEWHERE. Anywhere. My phone will tell me it has full bars, but Vodacom will laugh in the face of logic and technology and find a way to disconnect me anyway. Often. I’m not talking about rural areas, either. I live in Pretoria, which isn’t exactly a tiny little farming community.
I guess Vodacom does make an effort sometimes, though. Because they’re so great at customer service, I’ve received the below SMS from Vodacom a few times:
First, Vodacom, I appreciate you noticed that your network is full balls. And I appreciate you reaching out to me to offer me something in return for my frustration.
But seriously. Go screw yourself. You offer me ten minutes? The first nine minutes of each of my calls is usually just me saying “Hello? Can you hear me NOW?” So you’ve pretty much given me one minute.
And then you say it only counts if I call another Vodacom customer? You’ve gotta be kidding me. That’s a double whammy of dropped calls. I’d have a better chance of escaping unscathed after punching a lion in the dick than actually having an uninterrupted conversation on that call.
As a final eff you, you then tell me I have one day to use it, or else it expires. Seriously? This is your idea of customer service and some sort of an apology for having a network that’s worse at being a network than Donald Trump is at being a president? That’s like apologizing for farting in a crowded elevator by leaving a giant, steaming turd on the ground as soon as you get to your floor. You may feel better, but your audience definitely doesn’t.
You can take your offer, roll it around in hot sauce and razor blades, and jam it up your urethra.
So here’s an idea, Vodacom: take some of the millions of dollars you spend per second on advertising and invest even a FRACTION of it on figuring out how to do the one thing for which you exist. That suggestion’s free. But I have many more ideas for you, none of which would be appropriate for a family-friendly blog. Feel free to call me- but I can’t guarantee the call will go through. Cause you know, I use Vodacom.
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