What Typewriter Do You Use – Part 24

It is weirdly comforting to know that you don’t suffer alone. So I was glad to read this on the Adobe support forums from a veteran poster: “As we all know, you don’t wish Adobe customer service on anyone.”

So, after some seven years as an Adobe customer, here’s the story of my first phone conversation with Adobe customer service, yesterday in the afternoon. I get through after twelve minutes – not bad. The person does not sound crazy and asks for an order number, which I provide. Then – silence. After a couple of minutes I ask what is going on. “Sir, I’m pulling up your information.” Aha. 18 minutes. “I can see your order now, but I need to pull up more information!” Silence. All of a sudden, the person apologizes for some known Adobe problem with the product I ordered. I quickly point out that this is not my problem, and explain what is at issue. Silence again, then: “Please provide me with your phone number in case we get disconnected.” That does not bode well, I think. More silence. 26 minutes. My mind has long started to drift away, I surf the web. I feel like an astronaut, separated from my space ship, floating through a boundless, dark void. At some point I manage to ask: “Is there any progress?” Silence. Then: “Sir, I’m still pulling up more information.” Silence. After no further interaction, in minute 43, we finally get ‘disconnected.’

I don’t expect to be called back. However, now I cannot get rid of this picture in my head of Adobe customer service representatives “pulling up information” – with fishing rods perhaps. Or maybe the information is carved into blocks of stone shaped like large cheese wheels, stored deep down in a Kafkaesque basement. When a call comes in, the stone with your information must be located, and then rolled to the Adobe customer service cave on a higher floor.

To be continued, I assume.