i wish i could punch ’em
I have been in deep and meaningful conversation with the support desk of my webmail provider all day. They seem to be a fine, fine office. Our conversation was as follows (name of webmail changed to avoid a lawsuit):
Me (through their support interface): Hi, please help, Yee-haw won’t send my emails. [technical description of problem, including an exact description of the error messages I’m getting]
Them (through email): Hi, we want to help you. We need to know what error messages you are getting. For that purpose, please send us screenshots of you not being able to send your messages through Yee-haw. Please use the Yee-haw account you’re having problems with.
Me (through my other major webmail account): Hi, I can’t use my Yee-haw, that’s kind of the whole problem. Here are the screenshots, please solve my case.
Them: Hi, thanks for replying. We aren’t sure who you are. Please prove you’re the same person (and not just someone trying to steal the answers to someone else’s vital question and sell them on eBay for $3,000,000,000) by telling us your date of birth.
Me: Hi, here is my very secret information. I was born on July 18th. I’m sure no villain would have been able to obtain that knowledge. Now you know it’s me, please help.
Them: Hi, thanks for sticking with us. In order for us to help you, we need you to send us screenshots of the problem you get when trying to send email. We’d rather you did this through your Yee-haw account.
Me: OMFG ARE YOU SERIOUS YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS PLEASE SAY YOU’RE KIDDING ME AAARGH (head explodes)
Still waiting for the answer. I can’t shake the feeling I’m standing at a helpdesk with a stereotypically blonde attendant. I’m here to see Mr. Jones. No, Jones. Not Smith. J-o-n-e-s. How many bosses do you have named Jones? Listen, there’s no call for this kind of language. Okay, do you wanna take this outside?
Do you, Yee-haw?