Why I am sometime homicidal

I called South Jersey Gas to straighten out the mess our previous property manager had left behind at my parents’ old property in Atlantic City. I successfully negotiated their phone tree until I finally lost patience and hit 0 to get a real person to help since none of their other options met my needs. I then spent over 40 minutes on hold, listening to that music that makes you want to tear your ears out after the first fifteen minutes, while every ten seconds the same three messages, repeated in rotation, broke into the music.

Just when I thought I might have to stick my head in the snow until it froze to make the pain go away, a live voice came on the line. It was their emergency services department. Customer service had apparently closed while I was on the phone and my call was automatically forwarded to their emergency line. Which meant, since I didn’t have an emergency, I had just spent at least twenty minutes of hold time waiting for a department that was closed. Twenty minutes of what little life I have left and will never get back. Twenty minutes that I should charge them for stealing from me. 

I HATE progress.