Max vs. Telstra

Andrea: “Okay, good. (keyboard sounds) There’s no outage in your area. What I’ll do is book a technician to come out and look at your modem. Because you’re out of contract, you’ll be charged $66 plus $18 per 15 minutes. Is that all right?”

Max: “Uhhh… I thought there was a nation-wide problem. There was a recorded message just before I got you.”

Andrea: “No, I’m not aware of any nationwide problem.”

Max: “Well, that’s what the message said.”

Andrea: “I’m looking at the screen and there’s no outage. When your modem is blinking like that, it usually means there’s a problem with the actual modem. So the technician may need to sell you a new one.”

Max: “But every other time I’ve had this pattern of blinking lights, it’s been a fault with your network.”

Andrea: “It’s more likely to be your modem.”

Max: “The Power light on, the Receive light blinking, everything else off?”

Andrea: “That’s right.”

Max: “…”

Andrea: “Do you want me to book a technician?”

Max: “I think I’ll wait and see if it fixes itself.”

Andrea: “Okay. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Now, let’s pause to review the “facts” I received here. At first I thought there were only two:

1. There is no outage
2. My pattern of blinking lights suggests a fault with the modem

But later I realized Andrea had buried a third one in there as well, and it was waiting to bite me.

The next day my modem still wasn’t working, so I called up again. Tech support told me:

1. There is an outage
2. My pattern of blinking lights suggests a network fault
3. It will be fixed by 1pm

This was a relief, because I didn’t want to shell out for a new modem. It was also reasonably satisfying to confirm my suspicion that Andrea had no frickin’ idea what she was talking about.

Sure enough, internet access was mine again after 1pm—but only for a few hours. Then the modem started doing that blinking thing again. I couldn’t bring myself to call Telstra again, so I decided to re-try an earlier strategy: going to bed and hoping everything fixed itself overnight. Alas, this proved unsuccessful. In the morning I sucked it up and called Telstra again. Now tech support told me:

1. There was an outage in my area yesterday, but that was fixed
2. That pattern of blinking lights could mean anything
3. A technician needs to come out to my house to see what the problem is

Then commenced a heated five minute argument about why a technician needed to come to my house. This came to a halt when I finally articulated a key assumption: “… so I don’t see why I should have to pay for a technician to confirm there’s a problem with your network.”

“Oh,” the tech said. “You don’t pay for a technician unless the problem is with your computer — like if it’s got a virus and that’s why you can’t connect. Otherwise there’s no charge.”

Thus, Andrea’s third and final piece of misinformation:

3. If a technician comes out to see me, I get charged for it

The soonest a technician could visit was the next day. “I can book him in for between 7am and noon,” tech support said.

“Okay, sure, any time in there is fine. Say, 9am?”

“No, I mean, that’s the booking time: between 7 and 12. We book in five-hour windows.”

Fortunately I don’t have a real job, so this didn’t require me arranging time off work. Instead I merely had to postpone showering in case that was when the guy knocked, and, of course, he finally dragged himself to my doorstop at 11:30am. He came upstairs, unplugged my modem, and plugged in an orange doohickey. It went KRRRRRSSSSSSSHHHHHH, like an old man blowing his nose. The technician repeated the process at the wall socket: same deal.

“Hmm,” he said, “When I drove up, I noticed a Telstra van on the corner, digging up the road. I wonder if they’ve disconnected the amplifier.”

He wandered out the front door. I heard these blokes shouting to each other. “Oi! Did you cut any optical cables there?” “What?” “I said did you—” And so on. After a few minutes, the technician wandered back. “Yeah, they’re doing some work. They reckon they’ll be finished in about twelve hours.” With that he packed up his orange doohickey and left.

This strikes me as an interesting, even innovative, business process. A traditionalist like myself might come up with something like this:

1. When a Telstra bloke unplugs part of the network, he records that fact in the system.
2. If a customer calls up with connection problems, tech support checks whether any Telstra blokes have unplugged things in that area.

Telstra, however, prefers:

1. Telstra blokes arbitrarily unplug sections of network; wander off for hours or days.
2. When customers call up unable to connect, tech support makes them check if their computer cables are plugged in.
3. Technician is booked for some vague time period in the future, during which customer is required to stay at home and avoid going to the bathroom.
4. Technician drives to customer’s house, checks modem, wanders streets looking for any Telstra blokes who might have unplugged things.

That must be why they’re Australia’s largest telecommunications company and I’m a chump trying to make a living out of writing novels. That and their koala expertise.