Frankly, I have never, *NEVER* experienced more extensive, ongoing incompetence than that displayed by the folks answering the phone at Cablevision. It’s probably not the fault of the poor schmuck whose unfortunate job it is to actually answer the phone. But seriously, when I call to have a service disconnected, I expect that service to be disconnected. When I have to call twice because I keep getting bills that says it isn’t disconnected, I am somewhat discomfited. When I have to call THREE TIMES and you DENY ALL KNOWLEDGE OF MY EVER HAVING CALLED BEFORE, that makes me LIVID. I honestly think I just popped a few blood vessels. And I’m not usually a very angry person.

Just part of the conversation:

Me: I’ve called to have this service canceled three times now, and I’d like you to refund the money I’ve paid you over the past 6 months that was related to this service.
Cablevision: We have no record of your previous calls, sorry. It says here the last time you called was in March.
Me: You know, the first person I talked to mentioned that your system shows I called in September.
Cablevision: Oh, wait, maybe I see something here. Please hold.

Sadly, this was EXACTLY the conversation I had the LAST time I called these people. “Oh sorry, we have no record that you called previously.” I’ve never seriously considered recording my calls before, but next time you can be sure I’m going to.

I never thought I’d say this, but: dear Verizon, I miss you so much. Please bring me FIOS as soon as you possibly can. I just can’t wait to give my money to you instead.

But I digress. I got a Blackberry. Now I could install all of those lovely Java apps that Google is releasing these days, right? This was very exciting. Seriously exciting—I ripped open the box the minute it arrived.

Sadly, my euphoria was short-lived. After some back and forth with Verizon, my phone was activated and online. But, every time I tried to install a Java application (mobile Gmail, mobile Google maps, Opera Mini, etc., etc.) I got this error:

HTTP Error 406: Not Acceptable

The page you are trying to load is not supported by the browser. Please try loading a different page.

Details: 200: Application can not accept the content [text/vnd.sun.j2me.app-descriptor]

I’ll admit it, I pouted.

And then I did some research. And waited on hold with RIM customer service for about 3 hours.

What I discovered was this: my Blackberry was formerly part of a monolithic corporate network. It was chained to an Enterprise Account. The all-powerful IT Department bestowed their Security Policy upon it. And now, that Security Policy, much like a hot iron brand, is officially with it for life. Wiping the device cannot remove it. Kicking, screaming, and threatening to sue RIM cannot remove it. The original owner’s IT Department can remove it, by sending a new Security Policy, but that would involve figuring out who and where they are, and persuading them to do work that they have pretty much zero incentive to do.

The Security Policy seared onto my Blackberry does not allow third party apps to be installed. So, I would be right back where I was with my WM5 phone if it weren’t for the Awesome Power of the Internet.

Here’s your solution

If you are also having this problem, you may want to take a quick look at this page: http://blackberry.ig3.net/

Now, I’m still in a little bit of a pickle, because I don’t have a PC. Therefore, I’m stuck trying to make Parallels play nice with USB devices. When (and if) I get it all to work out, I’ll post an update.

The Update

The workaround is great—the only problem I had was getting my Windows running under Parallels to recognize my Blackberry. I finally gave up and just used an old PC laptop we had lying around the office.

On a chilly day early last November, we lost my dad for 90 minutes.

My parents have always been fond of an afternoon constitutional—a meander around the reservoir in Central Park for a little fresh air and exercise. The day we lost my dad, a friend had made an offhand comment about a walk that my dad misinterpreted as an invitation. When the friend left, my dad thought that he was meant to follow. He put on a thin jacket and went outside, only to become disoriented and unable to find his way back.

Thankfully, he was eventually able to regain his bearings—but not before he was cold and shaken. My mom had already called the police, having panicked upon returning home to an empty apartment. The police told her to consider attaching a GPS tracking device to my dad, so that she would always be able to find him should he “wander”.

My dad is 58 years old. Late last year, he contracted Progressive Multifocal Leukoencephalopathy [PML]—a brain infection that affects people with compromised immune systems. For that reason, it’s most often seen in AIDS patients. Unusually, my dad contracted it after several bouts of chemotherapy—to combat Waldenstrom’s macroglobulinemia, and as a follow-up to surgery for colon cancer.

PML has a relatively rapid progression. Since the walk incident, my dad has become too tired to leave his bed very often. He is unable to articulate things as simple as the date of his birthday, or what day of the week it is. It has been quite some time since he could read, or play even the simplest of games. He has significant difficulty with silverware, preferring to eat what little he does with his fingers. The function of tools confuses him—he does not know whether a bottle opener or a corkscrew is the appropriate implement to open a wine bottle, or whether a spoon or a knife is better for eating soup.

Watching someone succumb to a degenerative brain disorder is heartbreaking. Every single day, another little piece of the person you love slips away. And every single day you have to try a little harder to connect with that person, because they understand a little less of who you are and why it’s important. Why you’re important, and why they’re important to you.

I wish often that I could look inside my dad’s mind and know what he is thinking. Sometimes he seems unable to understand the most basic speech. Other times, he manages something as complex as making a joke. Last week, my mom had the sudden impression that he had forgotten who she was. So she asked him, “Do you know who I am?” After a pause of minutes, he managed to articulate, “Brunhilda”—a name he has called her in jest for years.

But every day, simple things become a little bit harder for my dad: it takes a little bit longer for him to get dressed; his hands get a little bit shakier; he spends a little bit longer sitting on the side of his bed, staring out the window, his shirt lying next to him—apparently because he has forgotten that he was going to put it on.

——

My dad is smart and witty. There’s more than a bit of clown in him. He likes to hike, golf, and bike. He wakes up early to drink mud-strong coffee, eat his daily cornflakes, and read the newspaper. He can usually beat me at Scrabble, and his computer keeps working despite the fact that he never lets me fix things for him. When I was little, he used to rake up all the leaves in the back yard into a giant pile so that we could jump in them. His scrambled eggs are perfect every time. He has a penchant for odd hats, and never gave up trying to persuade me to drink more.

He has spent most of the past 40 years working extraordinarily hard. Only recently has he begun to really relax and enjoy the fruits of his labor. He plans to do many things—hike in the Himalayas; sail off the coast of Maine; find a house in which to settle down and grow into a cantankerous and somewhat smelly old man who barks at his grandchildren (always one of his dearest wishes).

It gets easier, but not fast.

[Update (02/27/2006): Speakeasy sent me a bill this morning that included an $150 “missed appointment fee”. That’s the final straw. I am never, ever recommending Speakeasy to anyone ever again. Sign up with Verizon, everyone—the same crappy service for 1/3 the price!]

[Note: I still recommend Speakeasy as a great ISP with fantastic customer service. I am treating this particular experience as anomalous because my past experiences have been so good. Still, be warned, Speakeasy! My beneficience only goes so far…]

Joe,

I just wanted to drop you a line to thank you for your help with my install, and also to let you know about a few things I think you could do to provide future customers with a more positive experience.

First of all, adequate communication with covad is absolutely essential. I missed an appointment even though I was at home solely because my buzzer is broken, and the covad tech had the wrong contact phone number for me. This despite the fact that I had called you to specifically mention that exact scenario as a concern, and to request that you update my contact information (as it was incorrectly listed in MySpeakeasy).

To add insult to injury, that was the second time I had taken the day off work to wait at home for the tech to come—the first time, covad rescheduled—but I was not alerted to this change until the daily update e-mail arrived. It was lucky that I took the time to actually read all the way to the end of it, or I would have waited around all day long instead of for only half of it. Equally lucky is the fact that I was able to check e-mail at all, thanks to a very temperamental open wireless network. Which brings me to my second point: phone communication with the customer awaiting setup is INCREDIBLY important, ESPECIALLY in the face of schedule changes.

Finally, and most importantly of all, you should immediately abolish the second technician visit from your setup. I was shocked and amazed to find out after more than two weeks without DSL that I didn’t need the second technician at all to start using it. I could have done that part of the install myself in approximately 27 seconds. I can’t really state this strongly enough. I, and probably most of your customers, depend greatly on high speed Internet service for their livelihood. The minimization of the period during which the customer is without the Internet at home is of the utmost importance.

I am actually stunned that I could have called you up 3 or 4 times to try to bump up my technician date without you ever seeing fit to mention that I could complete the install myself. I quite clearly remember articulating that the reason I wanted a sooner install was that Internet access was extremely important to me. I assumed, as I’m sure many of your customers do, that you wouldn’t want to waste a technician’s time with something that the customer could do very well on their own, or I would have tried it out sooner.

I’m not discounting altogether the idea of having a technician stop by to make sure everything is 100% kosher, I just can’t imagine why you wouldn’t help the customer get up and running in the meanwhile—if only to stop them calling and whining at you about how much they need the Internet!

All of this has been especially disheartening because up until this point, I have never received anything but the best service from Speakeasy. I pay the premium for your service because I don’t WANT to have to deal with the mockery of service that Verizon et al. offer. I hope sincerely that you will take at least some of this to heart, because I think you’re a great company, and I would very much like to see you wrest as much business as possible away from the service-impaired ISPs of the world. You’re not going to do that with the kind of service that I received.

Thank you again for the work you did on my behalf—in spite of the rant, I do appreciate that I now have DSL. And thanks for reading the rant (if you indeed did read it in its entirety).

Samantha