12/28/00

Yesterday we got an AT&T bill with only one charge on it, $25.59 for a three minute call to Vanuatu. Now, we switched to Sprint and canceled long-distance with AT&T two months ago, so I called them up. Although first I checked the dictionary to find out where the hell is Vanuatu, an island group a.k.a. New Hebrides—had to look that up as well—in the south Pacific, northeast of Australia.

Calling AT&T got me several menus and sub-menus—“for information regarding service or billing to existing accounts belonging to a third cousin’s ex-wife in Bombay, press 7." I finally got a live (mostly) human being on the line and explained that I don't know how we got charged for this, but I would not be paying this bill and I do not expect any damage to my credit rating either.

I was surprised to hear that the woman I talked with knew where Vanuatu is—for someone making $8 an hour answering phones, she seemed remarkably well-informed. But it turns out she’s probably handled lots of calls like mine. "Sir, do you have internet?" she asked. Then she mentioned an "adult"-content web-site operation, something like a 900-number deal, in Vanuatu.

Well, I didn’t let on that we do “have internet,” because, one, we wouldn’t connect to any such site—especially for a fee—and, two, even if we had—“we canceled our long distance service with AT&T, so there’s no way we could have incurred this charge.”

“Sir, these sites route all calls through AT&T, so you are billed even if you don’t normally have long-distance service with AT&T.”

“Look,” I said, patiently, “There are four people in this house” (my wife, myself, our twenty-one-year-old daughter and seventeen-year-old son), “none of whom would have made this call, I can assure you. So I don’t intend to pay this bill.”

“Sir, our billing procedures and equipment are very reliable, and regardless of what you believe, someone physically placed that call from your residence, and you are obligated to pay for it.” But I'm looking at "11/24/00, 5:15 p.m."—the day after Thanksgiving—and thinking, No Way. Not under any circumstances.

I explained, repeatedly, to the woman and eventually her supervisor—both of whom said they had “no authority to remove the charge from your account”—that no one here made this call, and I would not be paying this bill, “and furthermore I do not expect to find my credit record marred because of this. I’ve paid all my bills for thirty years now, and I do not expect to find a black mark on my credit record on account of this.”

I realized I’d spent more than a quarter hour on this business, and both parties were beginning to repeat ourselves—although Miss Supervisor said that I could contact my local service department and have them schedule a technician to check my line for “irregularities” that might have led to this charge. To which I informed her that “I have a life, and I’ve already devoted more of it than seems necessary to this matter, and I won’t be paying—.” I believe the best approach to these situations is not anger but firm, unwavering declaration. Although the scarcity of a spirit of logic or compromise at AT&T was beginning to put an edge on my feelings.

In fact, it occurred to me that, as a shareholder who’s seen his $5,000 worth of AT&T dwindle to well under $2,000, it’s extra aggravating to think that this corporation is trying to gouge me—and losing my money in the process.

“Well, Sir, if you do not pay this bill your credit record will be affected—” the supervisor told me, which began to get under my skin, so I cut to the chase.

“Look, for the last time, we did not make the call and I will not pay the bill. And right now I have no grievance with AT&T, but if my credit is adversely affected, I will be very unhappy with AT&T—”

At which point she managed to squeeze in, once again, “Sir, I have no authority to—”

“Then you explain this to whoever you need to”—grammatical fussiness helps nothing in a charged atmosphere—“but I do not expect to hear any more about this.”

And in the moment before I clicked the button to end this travail, I was amazed to hear:

“I’ll take care of it, Sir.”

And then I got to thinking. So I checked my computer, the "history" files in Netscape. No activity on 11/24 around 5:15 p.m. (whew!). But I dug into the innards of my seventeen-year-old’s computer, and guess what he was connected to at that particular moment in time?

—Slutpost.com

So I talked to him about it. I could see from old temporary files that his activity on slutpost.com has been limited to a few rare occasions (and I'm like So What? on that, as long as you understand that real girls don't tell any-and-every available dog, "Hey I wanna suck you off and have you cum all over me—I'm so hot and horny all the time”). But I explained to him about how a "free trial" probably leads directly to a scheme to wheedle your credit card number, or in this case a phone number, out of you and charge you anyway. And he said (and I believe him) that Slutpost.com came recommended in an email from his friend, that his friend hadn't sent, with a link that said something like, "Hey, check out this great site I found." When he clicked on the link (what seventeen-year-old wouldn’t?), it quickly dialed a number, and he couldn't find an X box or any other way to exit out of it until it had done its work and connected him. (And he knew nothing about Vanuatu.)

To anyone else who is billed $25.59 for a call to Vanuatu, and puzzled by it, I say, let AT&T deal with it; stick them with the loss. AT&T management has frittered away most of my investment—I hereby authorize consumers not to worry about me—I’ve given up on that bunch.