A 15-minute promise, two days of company policy, and a lesson in customer service

By Stan Olenik — Cell Phone Hell Survivor

The new year felt like the right time for a new phone, and after a week of watching football, Billy Bob Thornton had become a regular presence in my living room, pitching T-Mobile between kickoffs.

I’m a Billy Bob fan. I knew the commercials by heart. I did a little research online, watched an AT&T commercial that basically called T-Mobile’s promotion a bunch of lies, but by that point Billy Bob and I were buds.

As I walked into the T-Mobile store to switch my cell service, I remembered all the lines about simplicity, savings, and how T-Mobile could switch my service over in 15 minutes. By the time I walked out, the only line I could still hear was Thornton quoting a friend who once said T-Mobile “used to suck.”

Editor’s note:
I try very hard to stay in my lane on this site, but I thought my experience in cell phone hell might be both informative and, hopefully, entertaining. Thanks for indulging me.
— Stan

My first time in the T-Mobile store, I was greeted by a pleasant sales agent. I told her Billy Bob sent me and I was looking for one of those great deals he’d been pitching.

After some pleasantries, she let me talk her into doing one thing—explaining the cheapest plan T-Mobile had to offer. She made a few attempts to steer me toward more expensive options with better “promotions,” then wisely gave up. We landed on a plan. I wrote down the price and asked for her card.

I went home, checked a few other plans, and decided that she—and Billy Bob—had me sold.

“I knew you’d be back,” she said as I walked in an hour later, and we began the process of moving my phones to the new carrier.

It didn’t start well—and it got worse.

The local store had to connect by phone with the office that assigns numbers. After a 20-minute wait, someone finally came on the line. She sounded pleasant enough, but it was clear we were struggling to understand each other. Her version of English made it obvious she wasn’t from around here, as we say.

In fairness, I’m willing to bet she was having just as much trouble understanding a Palmetto State accent as we were hers.

After four attempts to enter our information correctly, without success, my in-store representative gently reminded her that we had now been on the phone for more than an hour to complete something that usually takes about five minutes.

The response was, “Please hold.”

She disappeared for nearly half an hour.

T-Mobile needs better hold music.

My agent was apologetic. She told me she had never seen anything like this happen in her nine years with the company.

“I know you have to be getting mad,” she said.

I offered her a thought I’ve tried to live by most of my adult life.

“I don’t ever get mad at someone who’s doing a job I would never want to do.”

Within minutes, a lifetime pledge vanished into thin air.

We were now closing in on three hours in the store. My wife was waiting on dinner, but I couldn’t leave—and I couldn’t even let her know what was happening because I had her phone with me, expecting the transfer to complete any minute.

At one point, my representative believed we were finally out of the woods. The next step was calling my old carrier to get the account numbers needed to port my Consumer Cellular service.

That call took minutes. No fuss. No drama. Here are your numbers. Thank you for your business. If things don’t work out, we’d love to have you back.

As we crept closer to the store’s closing time, the supervisor—who had been dipping in and out—stepped back in and tried one last time to reach someone higher up the food chain.

Finally, a breakthrough. One of our lines was activated.

With that small victory in hand, my agent decided it was time to collect payment. Feeling relieved, I reached for my credit card—only to learn the price we’d agreed on required debit only.

I assumed there were probably a few other details from the original pitch I might have misunderstood, so I pulled out my notes and asked about some of the features I thought were included.

“You mentioned an Apple TV promotion,” I said.

No—that was part of a higher-priced plan.

I ran through a couple of other features I remembered hearing. Same result.

It reminded me of my days as a TV sportscaster, when a viewer would call to complain about something I supposedly said—something I knew I hadn’t. My stock response was always the same:

“I know what I said. I don’t know what you heard.”

Four hours in, I had a feeling she would have been entirely comfortable saying the same thing to me.

After collecting my routing numbers, my agent and the supervisor offered good news. They had spoken to a supervisor who promised the second phone would be activated quickly.

Don’t be fooled. Good news does not come in a T-Mobile store at 8:45 p.m. on a Tuesday.

As we began working on the second line, everything came to a stop. The phone—which had been unlocked when it arrived—somehow became locked. The T-Mobile reps once again apologized and once again said they had never seen anything like this before.

They were so good at parroting the line, I started to believe they probably had seen it before.

We checked back with Consumer Cellular. They sent us to Apple, who suggested we contact AT&T. When AT&T entered the conversation, it appeared to be the final straw for the staff.

“You’ll need to call AT&T,” they said. “And by the way, it’s past closing time. We’ll be here at 10 a.m. Let me unlock the door so you can get out.”

Trying to explain four hours of intrigue when a wife wants a bumper-sticker answer—and her dinner is cold—is not a good way to end a day. At least my dog Eddie listened for a while, but even he didn’t make it to hour three.

The next morning, it was off to the AT&T store, where I learned unlocking phones is no longer something they do in person and could have been handled online the night before. Who knew.

Twenty minutes later, an email arrived: AT&T would not unlock the phone due to multiple attempts. Policy. Fraud concerns. Try again in 30 days.

I could not go home without a working phone for my wife.

So back to the T-Mobile store I went, knowing a heartfelt “I’m sorry” would not be enough.

The night before there had been mention of a credit for the inconvenience. It was time to revisit that idea.

My agent asked what I wanted. I asked what she could do. She again asked for my suggestion.

“A free, working phone today,” I said.

While I could sympathize with her dilemma, her attempt to make me feel sorry for her wasn’t working. Everything was policy. Their hands were tied—until they weren’t.

After another half hour of haggling, the only solution was for me to buy a new iPhone. Strike one.

The next offer came from the supervisor: I could borrow one of their phones for 30 days. Using two phones—one with contacts and one with a dial tone—strike two.

Finally, a dollar figure emerged. A credit covering roughly half the cost of a new phone. My share would be about $300, offset in the first few billing cycles.

Of all the bad deals, this was the best.

We started the paperwork—only to learn the manager required to approve the credit could not be reached. Nothing could be done that day. Strike three.

I masked my anger with disappointment and told the agent I needed to leave with a phone. If that meant buying the entire thing outright, so be it.

As I signed the receipt and heard one more “I’m sorry”—which now sounded suspiciously like “I’m sorry I ever met you”—I reminded her of my pledge. I don’t get mad at people doing jobs I wouldn’t want.

I could now add anything involving T-Mobile to that list.

Since T-Mobile and the local store had done nothing for me—except nearly double my bill—I felt free to promise to tell the story exactly as it happened and let readers decide for themselves.

An epilog, perhaps, but also the final irony.

After hours struggling with technical issues and language barriers, the final call—verifying billing—was flawless.

Clear. Confident. Perfectly paced American English.

If the voice hadn’t been reading credit-card disclosures, he might have had a Broadway lead before choosing a career in collections.

Apparently, when it comes to customer service, clarity is optional.
When it comes to money, it’s mandatory.

And that’s why, as my bro Billy Bob said, T-Mobile sucks.

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