For the record, I am a woman, and I’m the one in charge of the Internet service and bills of the house. I’m also a programmer and gamer. My partner is a man.

One night, our doorbell rings at home, and I open the door.

Man: “Hello. Is [Partner] home?”

Me: “Yes.”

Man: “Can you call him?”

I do.

Man: *To my partner* “Which Internet provider do you have? How much are you paying?”

Partner: “That’s not something I handle. That’s her.” *Gestures to me*

Man: “Oh. In that case, I think she can listen to our talk, as well.”

By now, I considered this the first strike. He has learned that the Internet in the house was under my name, but I can still only listen.

Also, sadly, my partner wants to keep him going, while I would have shut the salesman down way earlier.

Man: “Do you know that your Internet price is now [amount] and will be [higher amount] starting next year?”

Me: “Wrong. I have the contract here, and these are the values we have now and will have next year.”

Man: “No, that can’t be right. That’s a good deal.”

Partner: “Yeah, she knew how to negotiate with them.”

We go back and forth about three times; he doesn’t believe the prices we have, even though I’ve shown him the contract.

Strike two.

Man: “And what speed do you have?”

Me: “500 Mb.”

Man: “Hmm, I don’t have anything to offer with that speed. But if you lower the speed, you can get a cheaper price.”

Well, duh!

Me: “Not interested.”

Man: *To my partner* “Are you a gamer?”

Partner: “Yes.”

Man: “But probably you can get by with a bit of a slower connection.”

Partner: *Pointing at me* “Again, she handles that.”

Man: *Very condescending* “Why do you need such speed? Obviously, you don’t need that.”

Strike three.

Me: “I am also a gamer! We both work from home. If we both want to play online, 250 Mb makes us lag in games.”

Man: *Very shocked and frustrated* “Oh, well… then I can’t really offer you anything. But remember my offer for next year.”

And then he finally goes away.

Partner: “Why was he so fixated on talking with me?”

Me: “Welcome to being a woman when it comes to technology.”

One thing is for sure: we won’t even consider that provider if I can’t negotiate a good contract with my current provider.

Caller: “I get my Internet from you, and it’s not working right!”

Me: *Looking at the caller’s details* “I’m not seeing an outage in your area. Could you—”

Caller: “No! It’s not an outage thing! But your stupid Internet won’t let me post my s***!”

Me: “Oh, are you having an issue with a particular website?”

Caller: “All of them! Facebook! Twitter! I keep posting, and then they keeping taking them down!”

Me: “Oh! I see. Well then, it sounds like your Internet service, which we are responsible for, is working just fine. We’re not responsible for the actions of Facebook and Twitter.”

Caller: “I pay you for Internet! I expect my Internet to do what I need it to do!”

Me: “I would recommend contacting Facebook and Twitter about your issues, ma’am.”

Caller: “I tried! They got no phone number like you do!”

Me: *Trying to be helpful* “Maybe it’s to do with the nature of what you’re posting? I know that Facebook and Twitter have policies that—”

Caller: “All I’m posting are the f****** facts! The facts! They keep coming at me with their f****** fact-checkers!”

Me: “I… see. Well, ma’am, I do know that sometimes, if what you post can be interpreted as misinformation, they can apply fact-checkers to… uh… make the message a bit clearer?”

Caller: “I don’t need their f****** fact-checker! The Bible is my fact checker!”

Oh, Lord…

Me: “I’m afraid there’s still nothing I can do, ma’am.”

Caller: “Useless libt*rd!” *Click*

Yeah… there was no saving that conversation.

I work in tech support for an ISP in the UK, and this story always sticks to me as a time I made a difference.

It is late toward the end of a late-evening shift when I get a call from a woman who is distressed and about to cry down the phone. She asks if I can help with the voicemail on her copper landlines; her husband passed away a few months ago and had recorded a message on it.

This has already been going on for a few months; the provisioning department somehow ceased the woman’s services a couple of months ago when changing the account to her name. They somehow struggled to reorder the service, and then they told her everything was lost without confirming with tech support.

Sensing her distress, I slow down.

Me: “Would you please describe as best you can what you mean by ‘message’ and when this was recorded?”

Woman: “It was done years ago. It’s a message meant to play when someone calls the line.”

This narrows it down to one of two things: either the voicemail service built into the line at the exchange level or her handset. The built-in one would mean everything is indeed lost. The other gives hope, so hope we will.

Me: “Give me five minutes. I’m going to ring your line; let it ring to voicemail.”

We hang up, and I go into the systems to remove the built-in voicemail message. Then, I take a deep breath and ring her number.

Thirty seconds in, a gruff older gentleman starts speaking, saying to leave a message. Before I know what is happening, the tears start streaming, and the lady picks up. I try my best to keep a clear voice.

Me: “I think I may have sorted it. Try ringing your landline from a mobile. I’ll call back in two minutes.”

I ring back as promised and am met with happy crying and profuse thank-yous.

Woman: “You’ve given me the first moment of joy I’ve had in months!”

Me: “It’s just my job to try and help, ma’am. I wish you well.”

In the aftermath, I just sat there in disbelief that she’d had four months of misery all because no one in the other department thought to confirm an issue with us, the ones who actually know how it works.

This isn’t a complex story, but I thought it was worth sharing that there are times when we can genuinely provide joy for others.

I worked in a call center in the ancient times when the Internet came through the telephone jack. It was a horrible workplace. Everything was monitored by policy from bathroom breaks to what kind of food you brought as lunch — e.g., no bread because “it is bad for you”. It wasn’t very legal, but I needed the job. The commute was horrible, the hours were 0700 to 1200, four hours of unpaid lunch, and then 1600 to 2100, and the pay was two peanuts and a slap in the face.

My job was to walk people through troubleshooting this newfangled technology; TV through the Internet had just become common. It was my last day before I left for college, and it was the day before a major holiday where everyone expected to see TV after eating their body weight in ham, herring, and meatballs.

A major storm had ripped through the country and torn the telephone wires to shreds. I had been forced to work during my four-hour lunch, constantly berated over the phone by angry middle-aged people who didn’t take “enormous storm of doom” as a reasonable excuse for the Internet and their TVs not working. I was close to tears, tired, and emotionally drained.

This is my last call.

Me: *Faking cheerfulness* “Hello, and welcome to [Major ISP]. My name is [My Name]. How may I be of service?”

The caller speaks in the thickest, northernmost accent, here represented by badly written Scottish.

Caller: “Yah, me Internet’s doun. Cood jah help me?”

Me: “Certainly, miss! That is indeed why they pay me!”

I take her personal ID number, address, and such. She lives in the far north of Sweden. I see terrible news on top of my screen and prepare for a verbal assault.

Me: “I can see here that the problem indeed is on our side.”

Caller: “Ach, da storm? Oi thoot das was in da sooth?”

Me: “Indeed, the storm is to blame here. The problem is that snow, winds, and an avalanche have torn down the wires. It is a known problem that is… being worked on.”

Caller: “Good tae noow. Wen will it be fixed?”

Me: *Bracing for impact* “Well, miss, the servicemen have all been drafted to deal with the storm down south, so there is an expected twenty-day delay in your area.”

Caller: “Twenty daes?”

Me: “Yes. Possibly more, and I am terribly sorry. I cannot affect—”

Caller: “Doon’t jah worry! Oi’ll wait. Doose doon sooth have bigger problems and prob’ly need da help.”

Me: “You’re… okay with the wait?”

Caller: “Ah, what can jah doo? It’s not jah fault, an’ jah doon’t boss da workmen aroond!”

The shock of NOT being yelled at finally breaks me. I mute the customer so I won’t break the professional façade, but I am silent for quite some time.

Caller: “Hallo? Are jah deere?”

Me: “Yes, sorry. I’m sorry.”

Caller: “Aboot wat?”

Me: “That… you… wait…” *Choking up*

Caller: “Jah okay?”

Me: “Well… I… I have been yelled at for thirteen hours because of the storm. People call and expect me to fix their TVs by tomorrow and berate me for ruining their holiday. You are the first one to actually be nice to me.”

Caller: “Oh. Sorry aboot dat. Jah soonds loike a decent fellah.”

Me: “Thank you. I want to thank you for being nice to me.”

Caller: “Jah already did, but jah’re welcome!”

I get an idea.

Me: “Look, this is my last day. I am authorized to grant rebates without anyone else’s approval. I will give you the largest sum I can.”

Caller: “Wat?”

Me: “I will give you free Internet, phone, cell phone, and TV for…” *quick maths* “…a year.”

Caller: “WAT?”

Me: “Yes! I will not let you say no.”

Caller: “But… but… Thanks?”

Me: “You’re welcome! Thank you for calling!”

I ended the call and gave her the rebate. I checked the boxes that would give her the rebate regardless of her being eligible or not, and I made it so that any mistakes were on me personally. Then, I waited for the machine to process it, logged off, and went home. I haven’t been arrested yet!

Oh, and sorry to all Scottish people for my probable misrepresentation of your accent, but it is the closest approximation I could think of.

I work at a very small municipal water company in a tiny community, so it’s easy to get to know and enjoy your neighbors.

A bit of necessary preamble: Lines get replaced! Damage happens! When we damage stuff, it’s really easy to call the affected company and let them know. They come right out to repair it and bill us! Also, no work has been done recently at the address in this story.

One dear lady came in yesterday to ask if [Internet Service Provider] had called us.

Cue my nonplussed expression.

Me: “What do you mean?”

Lady: “My Internet was down for well over a week, and when the repairman came, he said that your company had hit the line and to take it up with you.”

I started internally laughing in greedy anticipation of my hopeful proposal.

Me: “Would you like me to call them back?”

She was initially taken aback that I would offer but agreed to come back the next day for exactly that. (A brief shout-out to my amazing boss, who not only approved this but didn’t make me clock out, even when she fully knew it might get spicy!)

She came in this afternoon.

After we dialed the repair line and stayed on hold for twenty-eight minutes, the poor human who had to take this call answered. After verifying Dearest Lady’s identity and account number, he asked how he could help.

Me: “My name is [My Name], calling from [Ye Olde Municipal Water Company]. Our mutual client was told by one of your representatives to take up her broken Internet line with us, and so she has. I am here! Now, did you expect me to go repair this d*** cable myself?”

There were two full seconds of silence.

Agent: “Again, my name is [Poor Harried Representative], and I am happy to take responsibility for this call…”

I lurked in the background finding the contact information for another ISP whilst they created a date for the repair. At the end, the agent said:

Agent: “Can I help with anything else?”

Me: “I hope you email the last person who helped [Lady] and let them know how stupid you felt getting this call, how stupid this call was, and how sorry I am that they didn’t receive it.”

Don’t f*** with my older HOA residents. I’m your huckleberry.