I'm having a deliciously retro customer experience with the Automobile Association of America, who I've been calling to reverse an inexplicable (and, with a 300-mile journey in a 45-year-old truck in the offing, alarming) cancellation of my paid membership.
Already I've been informed that "I'm only telling you what it says here, Mr. Murray."
I've also been told in no uncertain terms that the reason my account has been canceled is that I have moved to Denver. (You can imagine my surprise!)
And then I've been transferred into the upper reaches of the AAA bureaucracy, where a recording told me all agents are busy and to leave a voice mail, so they can call me back within 24 hours. No issue-tracking number, no nothing. The car club of the Fifties, today!
Add to this AAA's antique regional silos, and we have what promises to be a fascinating time-travel adventure into the Customer Service of Yesteryear.
I'll add to this post as developments warrant.
Update: A nice man called from the 21st century called and has apparently fixed the problem right up. Of course, I'm disappointed. But it will be good to have that membership nailed down when I set off next Friday on my Lindbergian journey to Cleveland.