The morons are winning, part two.

It’s almost 8 p.m., and while I ponder the intricate details of my next meal (dinner) I thought I’d churn out a speedy moron update to part of my last post in case you’d like to know how I’m holding up under the strain. (Thank you for giving a crap. I have a headache.)

I finally decided to call Web.com one last time to find out how many lives they’re destroying besides MINE. After singing along on hold to a violin version of Carlos Santana’s “Oye Como Va” for what seems like an eternity, I finally explain to a customer service moron named Dreck — or maybe it was Derek — that I emailed signed Account Ownership Transfer Agreements for my last seven website clients to the reseller support department but apparently nobody ever processed them because all seven accounts showed up online today as “past due” effective July 1. I recite the list of seven websites while Dreck writes them down with an actual pen and real paper. Very last century. Here’s the rest of our conversation for your possible interest.

MORON:  If you’ll hold on I’ll call that department and find out what happened.

MARCY:   Fine. Go ahead. [I play three complete rounds of video poker and give birth to a
                robust set of twins.]

MORON:  Thank you for waiting. They say they didn’t get that email.

MARCY:   I don’t know what you mean by “that email.” Starting around May 20 I sent each
                form separately over the course of three weeks. SEVEN SEPARATE EMAILS.

MORON:  Then they didn’t get any of your emails.

MARCY:   Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? You’re a TECHNOLOGY company!

MORON:  You’ll have to re-send the transfer forms.

MARCY:   Holy crap. I’m hanging up RIGHT NOW.

MORON:  Thank you for choosing Web.com. Would you like to stay on the line and take our
                customer satisfaction survey?

MARCY:  [MANIACAL LAUGHTER] [CLICK]

So I re-send all seven transfer forms attached to a snotty email and receive a surprisingly speedy confirmation from Cindy S. promising to process them by tomorrow. I really don’t believe her, but I’m through. I can do no more.

I need to eat right now because diabetes. I might be back later but don’t count on it. Thank you.