Nothing’s Ever Really On Hold
In my younger and more philosophical years, I was caught up by one particular question that would not let go: “What is Time?” To find an answer, I took courses in philosophy. I read books of wisdom. I meditated on the image of a clockface. None of this helped. The best response I found came from Saint Augustine: “Time: I know what it is, but when you ask me, I don’t know anymore.” Pretty good, so far as it goes.
Yesterday I decided to end my fifteen year relationship with a wireless carrier. I thought I could do it online. After clicking around for a long time in their labyrinthine website, I came to a place where I was led to believe I could cancel the service. I clicked on the button. A window popped up: “No lines in this account eligible for online cancellation. Please contact customer service.” That was it.
So I googled around and found a phone number for the carrier’s customer service department. I dialed it from our landline because wireless service in our neck of the boondocks has become sketchy of late. The call went through. An automated voice came on and told me that a ten-minute wait was in my future, “due to high call volume during these pandemic times.” Forty minutes later, a real voice came on the line. “Hi, this is Daryl. How may I help you.”
I told Daryl what I wanted to do. In his polite way, he tried to dissuade me from doing what I wanted to do. He offered me a special deal to stay with the carrier. I said no. He offered me another special deal. I told him no. The only special deal I needed was to close my account. Daryl began to offer me another special deal, but I cut him off. “Okay,” Daryl said cheerfully, “let me put you on hold while I set things up.” “No!” I yelled, but too late. Daryl already had me on hold.
Another twenty minutes passed. Another voice came on the line: “Hi, this is Alan. How may I help you?”
“What happened to Daryl?”
“Who is Daryl?”
“He’s your colleague,” I said. “He was helping me. He put me on hold to set things up. That was twenty minutes ago. Now you’re here. I want to close my account.”
A long pause ensued. “Alan? Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here, but I can’t help you. You need to talk to the office that handles contracts. Let me put you on—-”
“NO!!! Listen, Alan, I’ve been waiting on hold for an hour already, just to close out my account. That’s all I want. Nothing else. Can’t you do something? Can’t you connect me directly with somebody who can help so I won’t have to wait on hold any longer?”
Another long pause. “Okay,” Alan said, “I’ll do something for you. I’ll connect you directly with the contracts department—and I’ll stay on the line and keep you company till somebody over there picks up.”
Wow. Here was a person who understood the existential loneliness of being on hold. We waited together in silence. A few more minutes passed until another voice joined the line. This one sounded as if coming out of a tin can at the bottom of a dry well: “Hello, this is Ruth.”
“Hi, Ruth, this is Alan. Can you help this gentleman with his question. He’s been waiting a long time.”
“Of course I can!”
“Thanks, Alan!” I said.
“You’re very welcome. Goodbye, and stay safe.”
“You too, Alan.”
Ruth was most pleasant. I told her what I wanted. She said, “Sure, no problem, but I’ll need a little time to set things up for you.”
“Oh no! Please, could you stay on the line with me while you set things up? I don’t think I could bear it otherwise.”
“Oh sweetie!” she said, “Of course I’ll stay on the line with you. I know what it’s like. I’ve been working at home for the last three months. I live alone and don’t have any company. I’ll just set things up for you right now. Give me a few minutes.” The soothing sound of keyboard tapping came over the line. It made the time pass more quickly. I felt my spirits lifting, a bad day turning into a good one.
“There,” she said at last, “All done! Your contract with us is ended as of Friday. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Oh, thank you so much! That’s all I wanted.” I bid her adieu.
It was over. It had taken nearly an hour and a half to sever my relationship with a wireless carrier. I thought of that expression, “Well, there’s an hour and a half I’ll never get back”—not that anybody has ever gotten any stretch of time back.
I also thought about my old question. It seems that I’ve been asking the wrong one all along. It’s not “What is Time?” but rather, “Who is Time?” And the answer is, Time arrives under the guise of many names. Depending upon the occasion, Time is called Daryl, Time is called Alan, Time is called Ruth. Time is also called passing and being passed. Or you can just call it “me” for short.
“The Persistence of Memory” – Salvador Dalí
©John P. O’Grady
Originally appeared in The Mountain Eagle on July 10, 2020
