A Costly Reminder

Last week I came as close to a full-blown breakdown as I could get without actually falling into the bottomless pit of despair.  ATT Wireless was involved.  My entirely too busy life, whereby additions are continually made at the top without subtracting on the bottom, was to blame.  In the process of trying to keep it all going, I allowed my guard to relax in areas where normally I'm quite detail oriented.  The case in point involves record keeping.

For about three weeks, callers have informed me that the voice mail on my cell phone is full.  Back in late June, when my husband updated my phone before my California trip, there was a strange pop-up which continually harassed me from the touch screen of Girlfriend.  It asked for a password to access voice mail.  Though it was a nuisance, there was no time to mull it over or make a drawn-out call to ATT for problem shooting.  My over-tasked low-on-sleep brain did not connect the dots.

One afternoon, after an hour long phone session with my little brother in Napa -- who again reminded me that my voice mail was not accessible -- I forced myself to stop, sit, and figure out the problem.  I was missing messages.  It was a loose end.  I don't like missing messages OR loose ends!  I logged onto my online account to find the customer service number and noticed that my USED MINUTES box had a long bold RED line in it.  That was unusual.  Red is generally never a good sign with bills and the like.  So, I added that to my list of wireless issues.

When the operator answered, I hit him up with the red line question first.  It had unnerved me and was most unexpected.  And, in my perusal of the screen while waiting for someone to answer, I had come across information which raised further concerns.  His analysis was this: our group plan day minutes and rollover minutes had been exhausted for the billing period, and we were over by 1,500 minutes.  Even as my stomach sank as he broke down what that was in dollars at 40 cents per, my mind filled in the blanks with vivid strokes of realization. 

Back in April, my brother had entered the state hospital.  We began to talk by phone, multiple times a day, sometimes for hours within a day, every single day.  Prior to that, our communication was primarily through letters with one collect phone call a week.  So eager was I to help him in this jail-to-hospital transition that I gave nary a thought as to the change in minutes.

To compound matters, on our plan with four phones -- my husband has his own business line -- I am the big talker.  Everyone else texts.  For months, we had failed to consume our designated minutes and the rollover bank was full, well past 5,000 minutes.  My old habit of checking the entire bill, line by line, went out the window sometime ago; my new habit is to check the abbreviated bill, making sure the overall amount does not waver outside of the regular charges, stopping only to ensure that no one is downloading images or such that rack up extra bucks.  I took for granted the rollover minutes.

"$600, ma'am.  And any calls you've made recently won't be on there.  The new billing cycle starts in two days, so you'll want to be very careful."  It was as if lightning had struck my heart.  Right there on the house phone, in front of a perfect stranger, I sobbed uncontrollably without the power to stop.  Huge wracking cries which shook me from the inside out.  There was physical pain everywhere.  But even with all of that, I prayed simultaneously, begging the Lord to see my heart and see His way clear to help me in this.  This lasted almost the duration of our half hour call -- a true and disturbing first for me.

I apologized to the gentleman on the other end of the line, even as I continued to cry, explaining my situation, wondering out loud how I could possibly have done this irresponsible thing to my family's bottom line.  "I'm usually so careful.  This has never happened to me, to us, before.  Check our history.  You'll see.  I have to make this right.  How can I be punished for trying to help my brother after all we've been through?  There's got to be something I can do to rectify this mess.  Bring the total down.  Anything?!"

It was that proverbial last drop in the very full bucket.  I'd already put out for a bridesmaid experience gone rogue; someone knocked down our mailbox, leaving us with an almost $300 replacement fee; new shocks and tires on the truck; a broken water pump and head gasket on the Yukon; back-to-school and sports fees; the cost of repairing my platinum blonde adventure; and financial assistance we'd extended to help a few loved ones in dire need.  Three kids with fall birthdays yet to come, including a big 18 and 21.  I'd prided myself on paying for the California outing, plane ticket and rental car, out of saved miles on a credit card used expressly for that purpose.  I finagled for the best possible deals, researching online, questioning experts and friends in the know, wanting to place every dollar where it should rightly go.  And balancing the checkbook at every turn in order to keep tabs on our accounts.

So, the phone news was simply too much to absorb. 

I'm happy to report that the ATT representative doled out the correct proportions of professionalism, courtesy, and, yes, even empathy, in my little wireless drama.  He upped my plan to the next level for an additional $20 and 700 extra minutes, and prorated the minutes, knocking 700 of that 1500+ total.  His suggestion was to track our minute 'spending' for a month or two, and to use the A-List feature for the top ten non-ATT numbers we call, including the regular number payphones I call for my brother.  I could return to my old plan without penalty at any time.

After hearing me ask whether a manager or supervisor could do anything more for a loyal and excellent customer, he paused and stated that he was authorized to credit my account for up to $250.  He said that was the limit.  He was sorry that he could go no higher.  But I was relieved.  Even elated.  I thanked him profusely, praised God repeatedly, and managed to restart regular breathing patterns.

I'll fork over the remaining $160 with gratitude for the reminder to slow down and pay attention to those things I've always found important.  If I can't do that, something's gotta give.  Phew!