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Dear Reader,
You can't even die without being put on hold.
Francis, my father-in-law, passed away a few weeks ago, and ever since I've spent more hours than I care to think about, on hold, trying to cancel accounts in his name. Ironically, the most challenging task has been trying to cancel his health insurance policy. His policy is with a well-known company, and he's been faithfully paying the premium for over 20 years. Every month on the 7th (my father-in-law passed away on the 6th) the company does an automatic withdrawal from his bank account. I've made several calls, each time talking to a different insurance representative. The customer service people I talk to believe that my father-in-law isn't with us any longer, but they haven't got a clue about how to terminate the policy. I'm starting to think I'm the first person who's ever called to say that someone has died, "Please cancel the policy. Where do I send a copy of the death certificate?"
Five different days I've called to try to cancel. Five different times I've been on hold for 45 minutes--that's my limit. I'm sure it would have been longer if I'd hung in there. But when I can wash and dry dishes, load the washing machine (the wash cycle finishes), put the clothes in the dryer, and shave my legs--that's it. Enough is enough and I hang up.
I took a day off and tried again, hoping for "sixth time's a charm!"
But it wasn't.
"I'm calling to cancel my father-in-law's policy."
"Unfortunately, we don't handle that in this department."
"Will you transfer me to someone who does?"
One hour later (yes, I broke my own rule; I felt defeated), and after being transferred five different times, I was connected to the UW Hospital in Madison, Wisconsin. "May I help you?" a nurse answered the phone.
"Not unless you can raise the dead," I told her.
I know I'm complaining about this, but my father-in-law would approve. In fact, he would be delighted hearing about my adventures, because one of his favorite pastimes was writing letters of complaint. I think he was happier to receive poor service than outstanding customer service. Pour service meant he could put a stamp on the envelope, drop in it the mailbox, and wait for the fun to begin. So I'll hang in there trying to solve the problem, and do my share of complaining--this one's for you, Francis!
It's time to enter this year's Write a Dear Reader Contest. You don't need to be a writer. It's fun, cash prizes, and the top three winning entries will be featured in my column. What to write about? Today's column topic, customer service, is one idea. I'm sure you have plenty of funny stories to share. To get all the info on the contest, go to: http://www.dearreader.com/contest2015/index.html
Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.
Warmest regards,
Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com
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