It’s the principle of the matter

DAVID SILVA

I used to be a firm believer in “the principle of the matter” when it

came to spending money. If there was one thing I absolutely insisted

on in my business dealings, it was that I be treated with fairness.

I once argued with a theater manager for 30 minutes because she

refused to reimburse me when the video machine in her lobby ate my

quarter. The manager kept throwing up her arms and saying, “For God’s

sake, it’s just a quarter.” And I kept throwing up my arms and

saying, “That’s not the point. You owe me a quarter. It’s the

principle of the matter.”

But we live in a time when far too many companies make their money

less from the quality of their goods than from their proficiency at

sleight of hand. Forget the advertised price of anything. What gets

you are the hidden fees: the installation and maintenance costs, the

obfuscated service charges, the less-than-articulated cancellation

penalties and the licenses, tariffs and taxes meticulously if not

explicitly passed down to the consumer.

With so many businesses making their living this way, I’ve found

that if I stood up on principle every time I came upon an unfairness,

I’d never get a moment’s rest. And so to maintain my sanity, I

accommodate. Whenever I have to make a big purchase, I mentally pad

the fabulously low price I’m quoted by about 40% or 50%, and ask

myself if what I’m buying is worth that much.

It was with this sense of resignation that I called a phone

service provider awhile back. I had just moved into a house that I

would share with four other people, and phone service was the last

thing I needed to do for the move to be complete.

The “customer care consultant” I spoke with told me all my local

and long-distance needs could be met for the low, low price of just

$50 a month. I mentally tacked on $25 to that price, thought about

it, and gave the go-ahead. The customer care consultant said a

technician would be sent that Tuesday to connect the service from an

outside switch box.

“Do you want anyone besides you to have permission to make

decisions affecting your phone service?” the consultant asked.

“Absolutely not,” I replied. “I’m in a roommate situation and I

don’t really know these people. So, no.”

On Tuesday afternoon, I received a call from my landlady, telling

me that a phone technician had come by and installed my phone line --

in my roommate’s room.

“My daughter was here when he came,” she said. “I think what

happened was she directed him upstairs, and he just put the line in

the first room he saw.”

So I called the phone company and explained what had happened.

“Not a problem,” the customer care consultant told me. “We’ll send

a technician back out. But I need to tell you the technician will

charge you $85 an hour to switch the phone lines.”

“But ... but ... he’s switching the phone lines because you guys

hooked up service to the wrong room,” I wailed.

“Yes, sir,” the consultant said patiently. “But it’s still an

inside wiring job. That’s $85 an hour.”

Right here is where my outraged sense of fairness took over.

“Fine,” I said. “Then disconnect the service. You guys are crooks,

and I won’t be shaken down. I’ll use my cellphone from now on.”

“Certainly, sir.”

A few days later, I received a bill from the phone company. I had

been expecting this. You can’t brush up against a telecommunications

company in a dream these days without getting a bill. But when I

opened the envelope and saw how much I was being charged -- $183.07

-- I hollered.

So I called the phone company and explained the nature of my call

to the representative who answered. She transferred me to her

supervisor, who patiently explained that her company charges a

minimum of one month’s service for any service provided. That, plus

the $85 an hour for inside wiring, is what brought my bill to

$183.07.

I closed my eyes. “I understand,” I said.

But it was clear to the consultant that I didn’t understand

because I was using The Voice. The Voice, which I reserve for matters

of extreme absurdity, is neither soft nor loud, neither sarcastic nor

friendly. It was the same voice I used when arguing with the theater

manager for 30 minutes, and the same voice that girlfriends would end

years-long relationships to avoid having to hear again.

“A minimum of one month’s service -- really, it makes perfect

sense,” I continued in The Voice. “But I’d say that statement is

based on the assumption that you’ve provided me with some type of

service, right? But you didn’t provide me with service. My roommate

-- who I don’t really know, by the way -- was serviced. I didn’t ask

you guys to provide a stranger with phone service. I asked that I be

provided with phone service. Which is why, when signing up with you,

I specifically indicated that no one else besides me could make

decisions regarding my phone service.

“But despite that,” I continued, “your telephone guy comes to the

house that I’m renting a room in and gets permission from a woman I

don’t know to hook up service to my room. She points him upstairs and

he hooks up the service to the very first room he sees. Which was

really efficient work, if that happened to be my room. But it wasn’t.

And I think that, on its face, providing phone service to someone I

don’t know and billing it to me constitutes a decision that occurred

without my permission, right? Because, if it didn’t, you could

theoretically bill me for any wiring performed anywhere within your

service area, right? And I wouldn’t give permission for that, would

I?”

“So let’s review,” I continued. “The bill for $183.07 is for one

month’s worth of phone service -- didn’t get the service so we’ll

just take that off -- and for an hour’s worth of inside wiring that I

didn’t ask for and never approved, which, under my service agreement,

is prohibited, so I won’t be paying for that. So, let’s see --

$183.07, minus my monthly service fee and minus the wiring charge --

hmm. I guess that leaves federal and state taxes, which according to

this bill amounts to $2.60. Personally, I don’t feel I should have to

pay federal and state taxes racked up by a complete stranger and a

blind telephone technician, but you and I both know I’m not taking

anyone to court for $2.60. So whom should I make the check out to?”

By this point, the supervisor had given up trying to interrupt me.

A profound silence descended. At last, I say, “Hello?”

“I’ll take off the inside wiring fee,” the supervisor finally

said. “But waiving your monthly service fee would have to come from

my manager. Would you like to hold for her?”

I sighed -- a deep, pitiful sigh. My long rant had taken a lot out

of me, and I just couldn’t see having to repeat it. “No,” I said

finally. “Waive the wiring fee and bill me for the rest.”

After telling me what my new balance was -- $75 for the right to

get a bill -- the supervisor asked me if I would be interested in

reestablishing service.

“No, thank you,” I said. “You guys are really scary. Not you, you

seem really nice. The people you work for.”

“Tell me about it,” she replied. “But you’re kind of scary, too.”

* DAVID SILVA is a Times Community News editor. Reach him at (909)

484-7019, or by e-mail at david.silva@latimes.com.