The Seven Stages of Lo-Fi Hold Music
Would silence be better? Who can say for sure?
Hello friends,
I recently contacted a lawyer to help me apply for disability income. Multiple Sclerosis has made it nearly impossible for me to hold a steady job. I hope to support myself with my writing someday, but for now, I need a little help. Having watched my mom struggle to successfully receive disability income, I knew I would never be approved without a lawyer. So, I went straight to my mom’s lawyer before beginning the process.
The first thing Catherine (the law firm’s lovely administrative director) asked me to do was figure out my date last insured. This is something the Social Security Administration uses to determine if I’m eligible for disability income. Unfortunately, the only way to get this information was to call the Social Security office. Thus, my one-hour and thirty-two-minute emotional rollercoaster began.
Stage One: Annoyance
Catherine warned me that the hold time would be brutal, but I couldn’t help the annoyance that built after the first thirty minutes or so. I found myself doing that sigh that doesn’t accomplish anything other than making your irritation known to the world. Even that failed to bring any relief due to me being the only person at home when I made this call. With my phone on speaker, I perused my two-hundred-and-something emails while the shit-quality piano plinked away in the background.
Stage Two: Dancing Bliss
At one point, I moved to the kitchen to wash some dishes. The hot water combined with the tinny piano to lull me into a sort of fugue state. With the dishes done, I floated around the kitchen to the aimless tune repeating for the umpteenth time. My interpretive dance was interrupted by the song's end and a pause longer than the others. I held my breath, hoping that a human voice would be the next thing I heard. Instead, all I got was a robot man saying, “We regret that you have waited so long. We are doing our best to answer your call.”
The robot man said a few more things about how busy the Social Security office is and how long wait times are standard. I tuned the rest out, waiting for the stupid piano to come back. The song returned, and I resumed my dance, albeit with less gusto than before.
Stage Three: Need to Pee
After an hour on hold, I realized I needed to pee. This left me with a choice: I could go while on hold and risk someone answering me mid-stream, or I could hold it for an undetermined and unknowable length of time. I chose to hold it. In the meantime, the regretful robot man was back, only he was less apologetic this time.
“Thank you for holding. We appreciate your patience and will assist you as soon as we possibly can.”
As if I had a choice.
Stage Four: Fury
I knew this wait would be lengthy, but I couldn’t keep the fury at bay just as I couldn’t stop the annoyance earlier. I huffed and muttered under my breath while the incessant piano droned on. I paced my living room just for something to do. The robot man returned, but this time, he couldn’t even be bothered with the earlier platitudes.
“Thank you for holding. Someone will assist you shortly.”
Shut up, robot man. Just give me the damn elevator music.
Stage Five: Catatonia
The anger left me fairly quickly, and I dropped onto the couch. A few minutes passed before I noticed I was staring blankly into space. I was also humming along to the now-familiar song. I’d spent the last hour and twenty minutes listening to that song over and over and over again. I hoped each time it ended would be the last, but it always started anew.
Stage Six: Watching Netflix While the Hold Music Plays Softly in the Background
I couldn’t take it any longer. I couldn’t keep listening to that cheerful piano or that infuriating robot man. I turned the speakerphone volume down and put on a Netflix show. I don’t remember which show it was, but anything was better than staring at my brain while my eyes rolled back in my head.
Stage Seven: Sweet Relief
I only spent twelve minutes navigating the Netflix/hold music balancing act before someone finally answered the phone. It was like an actual piano had been lifted off my chest. If that feeling were a movie scene, it’d be the one where the main character runs out into the rain and feels true freedom for the first time.
The man on the other end of the line asked for my information. I gave it to him and answered a few security questions before I told him I was looking for my date last insured.
“Ah, man,” he said. “My computer hasn’t been giving me that information today. I can give you the number of your local office, though. They should be able to get that info for you.”
I wrote down the number and began again.
Until next time,
Yardena
Weekend Potpourri
Currently on repeat
I’m completely enamored with this deeply personal review of an electric blender.
I’m also newly enamored with the sculptures of Adrian Arleo.
Randy Arozarena has quickly become a baseball legend here in Tampa Bay, and how he got here is one of the reasons why. You don’t need to be a baseball fan to appreciate his story of what you can do with hard work and determination.
Thanks for reading. This edition of Letters on Being is free, but if you feel like giving me extra support, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription. Also, what was your last hold experience like?
The fact that you were able to turn such a universally annoying experience into such lively. funny commentary is excellent. More than I can say! This made me laugh out loud: “Shut up, robot man. Just give me the damn elevator music.”
This is so typical of dealing with bureaucracy in general. It’s fun that you danced! You are lucky that you could hold AND eventually talk to a human. Some government agencies now have the robot man tell you immediately something along the lines of “Our call volume is too high today. Please try again soon. “. Then they disconnect the call!