Suddenlink Complaints Department
1 Shiny Happy Street of Fluff
Fiery Depths of Soulless Hell, TX 66666
Dear Sir, Madam or Other Miscellaneous Corporate Child-eater:
I write today with a great burden upon me, for a mountain of regret threatens to press the very trust in humanity from the depths of my consumer drone lungs. For thou hast slain me – not by any tangible measure but in a way far more malicious … a way that stains my metaphysical blood deep into the scaly flesh of your greed-mangled claws. Oh Captain, my Captain… My King of Kings… Please smite me not, for I present to thee … a complaint to inquire what form of fuckery is going here in your twisted little world.
“Just sign the contract,” he crooned with great seduction, the brim of his heavenly blue cap perched upon the gnarled horns of a goat-hearted demon-agent of the great Satan himself. Oh, how I should have known.
I remember the day as if it were yesterday: the air thick with potential, honeysuckle and sulfur. He knew exactly where to hit me – knew my softest of soft spots. I fell powerless against the call of the multitude of Discovery channels and History channels I have always loved … drunk on the promise of having it every bit of it, all on-call at the press of a single button. And, oh shit, did you just say the Military channel is included? The palpitations, they did thus commence…
“Just hand me a pen!” I shouted with glee, as he delved deep into his pocket to retrieve a lump of black avarice with which to etch my mark. Oh, how I should have known…
For a time, I must confess, things could not have been grander. For I had entered into a contract with Corporate America for the provision of services… And Corporate America had contracted back. On a day such as this, fortune shone oh so bright.
And then, the skies darkened – metaphorically, of course, for this is still Texas and the welcome relief of cloud cover remains a taunting mistress indeed. Eagerly, I bound before the Altar of Truth, igniting its wisdom in a blaze of electric glory. But where were my favorite channels I have grown so fond of over the past several years?
Needless to say, vexation consumed me as I reached for my phone to call the caring harbingers of customer service. There must be some mistake. For I had contracted with Corporate America… And Corporate America had contracted back.
The gauntlet I faced was cold and lonely, populated with talking heads and mindless mouths, eerily chanting pre-programmed responses to inquiries not yet made. But through toil and diligence, I found my way, sweeping aside a final thicket of thistle to bask in the grandeur that is Caroline (in Billing).
Oh, hello Caroline… I was referred by Mouthbreathing Bob in your scheming sales department of demonic manipulators.
Humility descended upon me with the stifling calm of a warm blanket. I was in Her presence: the presence of Greatness. Caroline had no need to boast of Her own importance, for the brevity of Her tone spoke volumes in Her stead.
“But I have contracted with Corporate America,” I pled before Her almighty gavel of justice, “and Corporate America contracted back.”
“Channel changes happen,” Her heavenly voice rang down.
“Yes,” I cried with futility, “but did I not pay for said service? Have I somehow angered the Altar of Satan the Beast with my most benevolent of intent?”
“Channel changes happen,” She said once again.
“And yet, I pay all the same, sans the services withdrawn?”
“And you shall continue to do so, lest ye wish to face the fiery trials of The Penalty.”
I recoiled in dread. Had my brazen bravado cost me more than I had bargained for? But wait, that which I had bargained for now itself hung in limbo. The shower of confusion intensified…
My beloved was gone, never to return – held captive by a premium of superior rank than the premium with which I had acquired her.
But what of the contract with Corporate America, you likely ask? Needn’t even a Master of the Universe abide by the Cosmic Code of Law and Common Sense? Should not the unilateral rescission of services without recompense of consideration constitute breach and fraud, every bit as much as it would were the tables turned?
Or do you stand by your General, the Almighty Caroline (in Billing), shouting stalwart down the mountainside to we minion in the valley, “Screw you, walking wallets, we’ve already got your money. For you are bound by a contract with Corporate America … and channel changes happen”!
And there’s not a one single motherfucking thing you can do about it either, so quit your bitching and moaning, and just suck it up princess!