John Parker: When I need a yak to my ISP, they're out with theirs

Whenever I ring the total staff - all two of them - are out milking their yaks. Photo / Thinkstock

Before I signed up for an internet service provider (ISP) I imagined their help centres as well-lit, large rooms with lots of windows and dozens of small cubicles with screens and phones.

Most importantly, a knowledgeable and cheerful human being would be sitting in each cubicle, promptly and efficiently rectifying any problems I might be having with emails or broadband access.

But after years of trying to get help with technical issues I now know differently. My ISP's call centre is located in a yurt in Outer Mongolia. And whenever I ring the total staff - all two of them - are out milking their yaks.

This takes much time because the herd is roaming wild and free. Darkness is imminent. A sandstorm is brewing. So it could be days before they can return to the helpdesk to assist me.

When they do they may find that their one hand-cranked screen has broken down and the necessary parts may take a month to arrive by camel courier from Ulan Bator.

But they have not entirely forgotten me. The yurt boasts an endless supply of placatory messages.

"We've got good news for you. From the first of next month you'll have unlimited gigawhatsits at no extra charge. This means there'll be even more you won't be able to access."

"Did you know that this week our updated website will be up and running? Once we return from milking duties, you can revel in its new features."

Though it's not in the category of wall-shackled prisoners who are asked to make complaints about their treatment in writing to the authorities, my problem is still an exquisitely devised exercise in frustration.

I am requested by my ISP, when I require help, to ring an 0800 number from which help rarely comes. I am not told my place in the queue. I am not told how long I might have to wait.

Franz Kafka, the German Czech writer of the nightmarish The Trial, would have been proud to dream it up. So would Eleanor Catton, whose The Luminaries is always open on my desk whenever the emails are down and I require help from the no-help phone number.

You need a good solid read on such occasions. Novellas and light romance won't cut the mustard. And, with respect to our hugely talented winner of the Booker Prize, a weighty book like The Luminaries is handy in more ways than one as you play the waiting game. It makes a nice loud noise when it's slammed on the desk in exasperation as the minutes turn into half-hours or longer and the two yurt-dwellers have yet to find the yaks, let alone milk them.

I stress that I'm not a vexatious complainant. I dial the 0800 number only after I've followed all the default procedures. I always turn the modem off and on more times than I've had cups of tea.

And I know that it's complex and extraordinary technology which enables me to fly emails around the globe and flit around the internet on wings faster than Mercury. It's not like dipping a bucket into a well. Problems will occur. The technology will inevitably falter at times.

Few of us will complain about that.

What we want, when that happens, is a helpdesk that actually helps. Not too much to ask for, really?

John Parker

My ISP - whose initial letter is to be found three or four letters from the end of the English alphabet - seems only interested in getting my money or in persuading me to buy more products. It hopes, with some justification, that I'll decide to stay with them once things are corrected.

And it's right. Inertia is an easy road compared to the considerable inconvenience of changing my email address and informing half the world about it. And would the new ISP necessarily be better?

So I wait. I hope they find the yaks soon.

John Parker is an Auckland freelance writer.