Comcast Customer Service: A Horror Tale
A few weeks ago, Houston Press's esteemed food critic Katharine Shilcutt and I were having lunch when I told her that I had had non-functioning Comcast cable installed at my pad two weeks previous. That's right, non-functioning. 
"Haven't you seen their commercials?" asked Katharine. "They tout that they have better customer service."
"Um, no. I haven't because my new cable hasn't worked in two weeks."
"Oh. Yeah. That would make sense that you haven't seen those commercials."
In mid-August, I anted up for new cable service at an apartment that I recently moved into. On the morning of the Sabbath, a friendly dude, after spending an hour doing whatever cable guys do, concluded that my cable was ready to go...24 hours from that point.
"The system is backed up. If it's still not working tomorrow, call this number," he said as he scrawled out a series of digits on a piece of paper. This number would soon take over my recently called log.
That next morning, the terse "YOUR EXPLORER SETTOP IS NOT AUTHORIZED FOR USE" -- set against a blue-screen-of-death-like background -- continued its silent shouts from the previous day. Same thing when I got home from a long Monday workday.
I called the number. They said to call this other number. I did. Those people told me to call the original number. I did. The customer service agent tried to remedy the problem over the phone. It didn't work.
"I'm convinced that it's the [cable] box. Yeah. It's definitely the box," he concluded before telling me that I'd have to take the hardware to the closest Comcast store, located about ten miles from my apartment. As a journalist that often works late into the night, this wasn't going to happen until the weekend.
Now, my intuition knew that it wasn't the box that caused the broken signal. But that man -- as well as the other jovial customer service agent that I spoke to -- was hella friendly and seemed to really understand the inconvenience. Gosh, I must be a serious cynic to doubt these well-meaning people. Instead, I'm going to believe in the greater good! Man helping fellow man! Yay!
Nope.
On a Saturday morning, I found myself standing in a queue inside of a bare-bones Comcast center. The single-file mass of humanity seemed to attract Houston's top grumps, including a middle-aged woman who stood behind me.
"I hate this state," said Miss Good Morning Sunshine. "It's so backwards. I came from Colorado and this stuff never happens there. These [Comcast] people should come to our homes rather than forcing us to drive all the way out here! This is cruel!" Wow.
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