Opening and reviewing my electric bill this morning, already a bit late, my mouth dropped in utter horror, a chill spreading across spine, fingers, even teeth. Even taking into consideration my wanton relationship with my air conditioning units, the dollar amount glaring its snarling face, a minotaur ready to chew and swallow, was exorbitantly wild. With almost paralyzing trepidation, I dialed the listed customer service number and persevered through multiple rounds of the automated service listing message system, which, not surprisingly, does not recognize any words you say, and thus must play again in its entirety and then, only then, allow touch tone options. Finally, after being on hold for slowly seeping minutes, something resembling a human answered, and promptly hung up on me. Repeat. This time, my request to review and address the situation was complied by a quite helpful and friendly representative, indeed, surprisingly.
Best part of this ordeal, or perhaps second to the relief to respite from the terrifying cost, was being reminded of how much I love the Eagles, namely "One of these Nights," played during the on-hold, classic rock satellite radio station, presumably selected to serve the dual purpose to entertain and to soothe. Success.
(image taken from My Lot)