The following is a survivor's account of his experience with a mythical network of intertwined copper wire known as "Plain Old Telephone Service". The beast is purportedly enormous, stretching from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean and occupying vast portions of the forty-eight contiguous states.
I'm a Sales Representative, and I spend most of my days making calls on our company's hosted PBX platform. I couldn't imagine the world without VoIP. I've come to crave that smooth and clear call so much that I've installed my own residential and cellphone VoIP plans on my personal phones.
While I was on vacation with my family in the Grand Canyon, I had no choice but to use the "landline" phone in our hotel room. This was one of the most disturbing events of my life, and I'm surprised that I can write about it. The experience convinced me that "Plain Old Telephone Service" is actually just a network of injurious demons who have been placed on Earth to torture those of us who care about quality phone service.
It all started when my wife wanted to order some pierogi. I picked up the phone and instantly heard an unsavory shrieking. Ah, codec G.722, where art thou? Where was the crisp and lovely music of HD voice? Instead, I got a grating, otherworldly hum from some uncharted region of the Universe.
Perhaps I was about to be a party to some dark séance. The phone rang and rang and finally some voice on the other end answered. But the call was so static-y and flat and garbled, I couldn't tell if the speaker was uttering English or some demon tongue. Finally, the words came through.
"Pizza or pierogi?"
It was a demon. I told it my preference and it transferred my call. Auto Attendants are apparently foreign to these non-VoIP fiends. But deep down, I must pity them. They know not the ease of extension based dialing.
I heard a voice shout some gibberish.
"Foul beast!" I cried "Speak human words so I can communicate with you."
The demon screamed again and, by some miracle, English came out. "Can I take your order?" He chanted. I could barely hear through the ominous static.
"Who is your overlord?" I asked.
"The Pizza Pierogi Palace."
"Ah, so you pray to some shrine. I am seeking pierogi, but I have apparently strayed in my passage."
"Hold."
And then a vast silence. After twenty minutes, I finally realized they were using an outdated hold system. I had been kicked off the call. ACD queues are too noble a mechanism for these beasts of the void. I redialed the number in haste.
"You kicked me off," I said.
"Sorry. Our system does that all the time."
"What kind is it?"
"I don't know. We've had it forever. Way before I started working here."
"Maybe it's time to upgrade."
"Maybe. What's your address?"
So their overlord sent a wizened troll to beriddle me. After much verbal sparring, the troll was able to extract my identity and my whereabouts. I hung up and lay on my bed. The pierogi came by magic, but the horrors of a VoIP-less universe were still fresh in my mind. When we got back from vacation, I went to my study and hugged my Polycom tighter than ever.