It happened over the weekend. She called me over to her house. As a neighbour of some 25 years, of course, I said I’d help. When I entered her kitchen, I realized she was upset. More than that she was worried. She handed me a letter she’d received from a utility and asked me to explain to her what it meant. I looked at the content of the letter as she spoke to me. She seemed to be more afraid than inquisitive.
“What does this mean?” she repeated.
As many of you know, I live next door to a most extraordinary person. At 91, Rodine Egan is not as spry as she once was, but at no time have I ever sensed that anything could frighten her.
A woman who could survive the Depression, serve as a WREN in the Royal Canadian Navy during the Second World War, marry and raise a family in a small Ontario community, and then in retirement still fulfill all the voluntary or community service roles as confidently as this woman has, I thought, could never be afraid. And yet, in that moment she handed me the letter from that provincial utility, I sensed unexpected fear.
“What am I supposed to do?” she asked.
Recognizing this was more than a routine issue, I read her letter. It was return-addressed Enbridge at 500 Consumers Road in North York. I knew the address was accurate. And Ronnie’s address was correctly indicated, as was her gas account number. But there after the “Dear Sir/Madam” (Why the heck wouldn’t Enbridge realize after years of serving her, that Ronnie was not a Mr.?) was the alarming bit of information I sensed had slightly panicked her.
“Your gas vendor,” it said in part, “will no longer arrange for your natural gas supply…”
Well, I didn’t know why Enbridge Gas Distribution would be cutting off her gas supply either. But immediately sensing her worry, I promised her I would investigate. On Tuesday, I allotted the time (I knew getting through to an actual customer service person would likely take a while) and finally began the marathon process of trying to find an Enbridge representative to explain.
After the requisite number of rings, I got the automated voice telling me “We truly value your call…” and to “Please choose the appropriate response key.” The first time, I got impatient after she said, “Press five if you’d like the options repeated,” and I pressed zero for the operator.
“That is an invalid response,” the voice said.
That’s when I located a phone book (remember them?) and actually found a listing for “the main switchboard number” in North York. I dialed it and found myself right back in voice-mail hell. Finally, when I found a sequence of keys that allowed me to use the zero for an operator function, I could hardly wait to speak with a real person.
“My name is Darryl,” the voice said. “This call may be monitored for quality purposes…”
“I certainly hope so,” I said.
And Darryl said, “How can I help, sir?”
“The first thing you can do is get rid of that stupid automated system you call ‘customer service,’” I ranted. “But look, I have a neighbour whom you’ve got in a panic over one stupid line in your letter.”
“One stupid line?” he queried.
I paused and read him the entire letter about Ronnie receiving notification that, as of Dec. 1, 2014, her gas supply would no longer be arranged by Direct Energy Marketing Limited, but by Enbridge Gas Distribution. “Your letter is telling my neighbour that as of next week, her gas supply dries up.”
“No, no, sir,” Darryl said. And he went on to explain to me in a perfectly calm voice that the contract for Ronnie’s gas supply was simply reverting from Direct Energy to Enbridge as of that date.
“So then why doesn’t the letter say anything about a contract changing,” I pressed, “when all it seems to do is scare the hell out of her that her natural gas supply is about to end.”
And, well, you can imagine where the conversation went from there. I got angrier and he stayed cool as a cucumber, but never admitted that the words “will no longer arrange for your natural gas supply” might panic a 91-year-old pensioner who’s never missed paying a bill in her life.
“Don’t worry, sir,” Darryl said. “I’ll have someone call her and explain.”
“No!” I blurted, “YOU’LL call her yourself, as soon as possible. And YOU’LL explain to her personally why her service is not in jeopardy!”
And be damned if he did. I still haven’t heard how Darryl’s conversation with Ronnie went. I hope she was less polite than I was.
“If there’s one thing that’s nearly criminal,” I told Darryl finally, “it’s suggesting, even by mistake, that you’re cutting off service to a person as honest and law-abiding as my neighbour, without apparent cause.”
