Now I know how a private detective feels when he's been "made."
A few weeks back I wrote about the inoperative muddle that had become my home Internet service, a highly ironic position for a fellow with the title of Internet critic to find himself in.
The column was mostly about how quickly and thoroughly we, meaning those of us fortunate enough to be able to afford it, have come to depend on the Net, how going without it is like a portion of the brain going dark.
But it also mentioned the none-too-impressive efforts of AT&T, my putative service provider, to repair my problem. That side of the equation deserves fuller exploration, because, like every journalist I've ever met, I am confident that what happened to me is emblematic of a broader trend.
Considering that this mention occurred in a major metropolitan newspaper, it wasn't surprising that AT&T's publicist called early and often after the piece ran. He wanted, he said, to find out my home address so the company could fix the problem pronto, which is what it would do for any customer having issues with DSL service, he said.
I wanted to preserve my anonymity, I told him, so that I could experience service from AT&T, the leading phone-line-based Internet provider in the Chicago area, the same way it works for people who lack public platforms for their grievances. So I didn't tell him, although I knew that, even with my very common name, it wouldn't be rocket science to figure out which house on the company's list of current service outages was mine.
I'm surprised, really, that it took as long as it did. Once it did, the results were impressive. My service was (at last) restored by a technician who put little hospital slippers over his shoes before entering the house and who, upon calling in to his office to run some tests and being put on hold, said something like, "Whoa, this is going to a high level."
Continued
