When Did Monty Python Start Working for the Gas Company?

And now for something completely different!

Well, okay... not entirely different.

Well, different in that it's a new post. Which is freshly baked and tasty! But similar and, in fact, somewhat non-different because it's a post about me still battling the Comedy Troupe some laymen like to call The Gas Company.

So, not very different. It's the same illogical bureaucracy you might recall from... oh... just last week or so.

Just more of it. And in such large portions.

When last I left you, Friends o' Cabbages, I had been-- under threat of having my gas shut off-- trying to schedule the gas man to come and read my inside meter. This apparently needed to be on a day where:

• The planets aligned
• The shui was feng
• The moon was in Uranus
• And the gas company didn't have a headache

When it was convenient for me, the customer?... Not so much.

So this took three phone calls (and one threatening letter, tucked-in for fun, telling me I had neglected to contact them at all). And my brain imploded and I was dead for a while due to my body's inability to process the Hulk-like rage.

Then I got better.

So during the last phone call, I pointed out to them that in this Age of Reason, and Technology, and Not Making the Customer Take Off Work in Four Hour Windows Every Six Months, all other utilities seemed to have remote reading capabilities.

And that's when the female Eric Idle in customer service said, "Oh, we have remote reading capabilities. But you have to pay $116 to have it installed."

"What? You have remote reading capabilities?! But for years you guys have been telling me I have to spend:

• "Several thousand dollars to put the meter outside, or
  
• "To give you a copy of my house key for keepsies no tradesbacksies...
  

"...No one has ever mentioned, in the many years of charming Utility Harassment I've been enjoying, that there was remote reading capabilities for $116. Let's do that!"

"Oh, but it's $116," Erica Idle insisted.

"But it is not $3,000. Which is more."

"And if they find something wrong with your line," continued Erica Idle in a nervous fear of remote reading, (perhaps she was scared by a remote reading meter as a child) "they'll shut your gas off entirely and then you'll have to call a plumber to get it fixed. And then pay a fee to get it back on again."

We left it that I was free on Monday morning to set it up.

Or so I thought.

Monday morning, in my Four Hour Window, that's when the Gas Man-- let's make him Michael Palin-- came in. He was friendly. He was cheerful. He popped down and read the meter. And then I asked him the question.

"Um, what about installing the remote reader?"

"Remote reader? I don't have anything here about a remote reader."

"I'd asked to have a remote reader installed so we wouldn't have to go through this every six months and have my head implode and die, and then it take days for me to get better."

"Why, I don't know anything about installing a remote reader. Are you sure you asked about having a remote reader installed?"

No, I called the Gas Company to ask whether the donuts were fresh this morning. "Yes, I was pretty enthused once I finally found out there was this option."

And I explained the situation.

"Well, from what you say there," Michael Palin told me, "it sounds like you might not have made it clear you wanted a remote reader installed."

I was on allergy meds and looked at him blankly. I had vague flashes of waxing joyous on the phone about the remote capabilities. I recalled making an appointment for something-- which had to have been real, since the gas man was, in fact, here.

Given I arrange many, many details successfully for my own clients each week, I didn't imagine I hadn't articulated my needs properly. But could it be I had a complete and utter Gas Company Mental Block?

"And you know," continued the Gas Man, "if they find anything wrong with your line, they'll shut off your gas and then you'll have to call a plumber to have it fixed, and pay to have everything turned back on again."

"So I've heard."

"So we have this insurance you can get for just $3 extra a month, and that would mean if they find anything, the insurance would cover it. So what I would do is get that insurance first, and then have the remote reader installed and..."

I never expected to feel Shook Down by the Gas Man.

He also explained to me that even with the remote readers, they will still want to get into my house every year or so to check the remote meter is still working properly. Meaning one time less a year than before. Meaning I will still have to take off a half-day a year to wait for the Gas Man.

And there we left it. I have, with three phone calls, and two personal explosions, managed only to put off this saga until the next six months. So, I ask you, Readers:

• Do I succumb to the shake-down, pay for the insurance and try having the remote reading installed again?

• Do I have the remote reading installed without insurance, with the implied threat that something is almost destined to happen to my lines in the process, (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) so they get to shut it off and make me pay?

• Or do I decide to go Amish, and heat my hot water the old fashioned way-- y'know, sitting it in a pan in front of a Heat Surge electric heater?

Are You Calling to Report a Smell of Gas or Explosion?

Ah, it's that time of year again, folks!

The cusp of Memorial Day? Allergy season? When rogue gangs of Monarch butterflies flap
northbound for their summer homes?

Um, no. It's that time of year I wage an Epic Battle with my gas utility.

I've mentioned this before; they feel every six months they need to get into my house to read my inside meter. They also feel they can only give me a four-hour window appointment, so I have to take a half day off work to have this done.

I personally feel I need the money that working outside of Meter Proximity provides.

They feel this could be solved if I just paid thousands of dollars to move it outside. Which would, in an interesting twist of fate, also require me to take off work, so it could be completed.

I feel it is stupid to do that when other gas companies seem to be able to read meters remotely, with the Technology and the Magic of Not Annoying the Frig Out of Customers, Who Actually Do Not Ponder Their Gas Meters As Much As You'd Think.

The gas company does not seem to see it the same way.

We have not yet agreed to disagree.

So they indicate that another terrific option would be for me to leave them a copy of my key, which they will keep safely for me somewhere in their offices along with Jimmy Hoffa and the Ark of the Covenant.

Given, I've just enjoyed an episode of Identity Theft, as well as someone using my blog content without my permission, I can't say I'm feeling that trusting.

So, I have my bud Josette visiting me over the Memorial Day weekend, and I realized I would be free next Thursday morning for that convenient four-hour window.

I told the gas company, "Hey, Golden Opportunity, dudes-- let's schedule it then!"

And they looked at the schedule, and they said, "Um, yeah... no. We're not available that day to look at your meter. Choose another day."

I informed them I did not have another day. If they wanted a day, this was it. The brass ring. The chalkware elephant. The giant stuffed Barney.

But I just learned I could call back during 7:30am and 9:00am the next day and see if I could get a Shop Manager to open up that time.

Okay, so, yes, the next day, I called in that earlybird hour-and-a-half-window of time and...

No shop manager. Call back again. We'll put your account on hold until you straighten out your non-Meter-Oriented-Life more in our favor.

"Do you have Saturday hours by any chance?"

Not so much.

I initially started wondering where that Shop Manager is, if he's not at work minding the shop in the morning like he's supposed to be.

But I realized. He's probably at home waiting for the meter reader.

Soon I will be calling the gas company to report an explosion. And it very well may be me.

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UPDATE: And this evening, in spite of my account being on "hold," I come home to a second threatening notice indicating they have already tried to contact me, but I have completely neglected to respond.

(Um, so what WERE exactly those two phone calls I made to them? And once where I gave them a time to come, and they said they weren't available? Did I make those up? Was I sniffing natural gas fumes or something?)

But this time in the letter, THIS TIME they indicate I can fill their requirements by calling my meter reading in 24/hours a day, seven days a week. WONDERFUL! Gladly! Hand me the phone!

So I dial the number with anticipation in my heart, and give them my 13 digit account number, and they ask me to guess their name (it's Rumplestiltskin), and give them my first born child to spin straw into gold... oh, and enter my meter reading, too, and...

They won't accept it.

Nope. I need to talk to a person on weekdays and schedule a meter reading.

And that's when I exploded in a giant burst of flame all over my living room. This is now a dead woman, typing here, exploded by bureaucracy and rage like an over-roasted marshmallow.

Fer cryin' out loud.

Classical Gas

"...To avoid termination of service, call immediately to give us your meter reading or arrange for us to gain access to your home," said the lady on the answering machine.

It was my friendly neighborhood gas company, calling to chat and catch up (read: threatening me again). Part of an ongoing saga, where my meter is inside my home, and the gas company simply can't understand why I'm never home to let them in to read it...

Because I am off working so I can pay my jinormous gas bill.

Well, naturally, by the time I got their thoughtful message on Friday evening, the gas company was closed. So I picked up the phone on Saturday and gave them a call.

The automated voice at Gas Company Central said, "Are you calling to report a fire, explosion or smell of gas?"

It was a nice reminder that other people had things worse off than me. I mean, I might be waging the war against an outdated bureaucratic utility system, but at least nothing had gone up in thirty-foot flames.

I waited for Robo-Operator to say what number to press for more options, but I was met with frosty silence.

Then she came back on. "I didn't catch that. Let's try typing in your answer."

"Type in? Type in what? What's going on? Is this a quiz? Does she mean use my touchtone phone to type in something? If so, what are my options and..."

Robo-Operator: "You didn't respond."

Me: "I know, I know, but when did this become voice-activated? Couldn't you mention it's voice-activated?! Otherwise, I'm just some schlub talking to herself."

"I'll put you in touch with a Customer Service Representative," assured Robo-Operator.

Cool," I thought. "That's more like it."

So the line went silent. Silent. So, so silent. No Muzak, no self-aggrandizing marketing message... I stood there, phone pressed to my ear, grooving to absolutely nothing. "Have they cut me off? Am I in a queue? Should I hang up?"

Finally, another automated voice said, "All of our Customer Service Representatives are busy. Please hold for the next available Customer Service Representative."

So I waited. More silence. Waited. Waited. Waited...

Kittens grew into cats and raised more cats that wore little outfits for pictures on blogs and then got too old for photo ops and had to retire and...

Finally: "Emergency services," said a man's urgent voice. "Are you calling to report an explosion?"

"Oh, God, no!-- I'm so sorry!" I had visions of houses with thirty foot flames pouring out of them because I was selfishly blocking the way by trying to keep my heat from being turned off.

"The Customer Service offices aren't open on Saturday," the man told me. "Call back Monday."

Sigh.

But not to be deterred because, y'know, it was -2 degrees out and the thought of having an Alaskan cruise brought indoors, straight to me courtesy of the gas company, was currently unappealing... I figured I'd try to at least give them my meter reading. So I called the number again and spoke loudly and clearly to the Robo-Operator...

Who warms up quite quickly when you actually get to know her.

I asked for the meter reading option, which she assured me could be done 24-hours a day, 7 days a week.

They then asked for my 39 digit account number. I read that off to them. They asked for me to confirm my 39 digit account number. I confirmed it...

They asked for my meter reading. I gave them my meter reading...

They asked me to confirm the numbers of my meter reading. I confirmed the numbers of my meter reading and...

"We cannot accept your meter reading at this time. Please talk to a Customer Service Rep about your account or visit us on the web at www.annoyingnaturalgasconglomerate.com"

I slammed down the phone.

Now, at this point, I think I went just insane enough that optimism shone through. I was determined to find a loophole here. So I thought, "Okay, if you people won't take my reading via phone, I will go to www.annoyingnaturalgasconglomerate.com and give my reading there. That'll work right?"

I imagine you know what happened.

"Invalid meter reading," it said, after I spent twenty minutes entering passwords and account numbers and waiting for things to load.

Gas Company-- 1. User-friendly customer service-- zippo.

Now I will have to take half a day of work off this week to let the gasman into my house. Because they only make appointments in four-hour windows, Monday through Friday, from 8am to 4pm.

Yes, one half-a-day of my whopping ten days vacation a year, sacrificed to the Utility Gods.

The whole thing sorta gives me indigestion.

Hm. Maybe that's where they're getting the natural gas...

They must be making billions.

Update: I called just now and they are closed for Martin Luther King day.

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The Gasman Cometh

The Gasman is stalking me again. He’s not feeling the love…

“10 DAY TURN OFF NOTICE—METER MUST BE READ”

We go through this every few months, he and I. I explain that in an ideal world, it would be great to see him…. We could read meters… chat…. put the gas company "hold" Muzak on speakerphone and totally rock-out…

But see, my day job keeps us apart. I have it so I can pay for things like… oh… my gas bill.

Given I get only ten days of vacation in an entire year— most of which goes toward selfish things like Christmas-- the probability of me actually being home for a regular tete-a-tete with the noble Man o’ Gas is somewhat equivalent to Paris Hilton winning the Nobel Peace Prize in Physics.

But the Gasman, oh nooooo, there’s no telling him that. So he sends me letters. And leaves notes. And calls. And once put a big yellow flier on my front door to show the whole neighborhood his great love of me.

Of course, if I went to the Gasman’s house at mid-day, he wouldn’t be there, either. He’s out sitting on my porch hoping... waiting... thinking, “Maybe this time will be different—maybe she’ll be home this one time.”

But it’s not to be.

I’ve tried to explain my neglect of him is nothing personal. I also neglect the mailman, the FedEx guy, the paper carrier and the garbage man. I am an equal opportunity neglecter. Thing is, the Gasman is the only one who wants to hang out inside my house.

So I give him my meter readings online. But every now and then he tells me it's just not enough. Others have hurt him before and now he finds it hard to trust. He must see my meter for himself. So I tell him I’d be happy to meet him at a time that’s convenient for the two of us.

Then he plays hard to get.

He tells me he’s only willing to meet me within a four-hour window. And leaves me taking off half-a-day of work to wait for him, longing for the sound of his work-boots on the steps.

He’s such a tease.

The Gas Company’s solution to our relationship is I either pay a jaw-dropping $3,000 to move the meter outside-- not fiscally feasible-- or I lend them a key to my home.

But we all know how THAT goes. I’ll be coming home and finding the place trashed because the Gasman initially invited over just three close friends… but then some friends-of-a-friend showed up to check out the meter…. and before he knew it, they were having a full-on rave…

I’ll be finding sticky-notes stuck to the fridge telling me I’m out of Cheez-Its and beer. Everything’ll smell like booze, urine and propane. And there’s bound to be a couple of meter readers upstairs in a compromising position, though they'll claim they were "just testing for leaks."

No, thank you.

I wonder sometimes where this exactly this whole thing went wrong. After all, am I not the customer here? Aren't my payments always on time?

But I grab the phone and dial, the automated voice routing me around the world in 90 seconds and back, each country wanting my account number for their own special siloed systems.

Then the Muzak kicks in, blaring so I have to hold the receiver several inches from my ear.

Ah, yes, Mr. Gasman, they're playing our theme.

I shake my head. Pity. It could have been such a beautiful friendship.

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