Photo by Miryam León on Unsplash

Dear AT&T,

Like I mentioned a while back, my father has passed. He died just before Christmas 2019.

Three weeks later, I gave you a call. I explained that my dad set up an AT&T account for my apartment in Florida because I lived abroad. He paid the bills with checks from my account. I asked if I could automate payments and put the account in my name.

I thought this would be easy. I wasn’t moving house, and the bank account used was my own.

You put me on hold; you passed me around; eventually someone came on the line who said she could help. She asked for the pin number. I didn’t know it. She said to guess. I tried my dad’s birthday. I tried my birthday. I tried all three of his children’s birthdays put together.

She said to go to an AT&T store, and to make sure it’s a corporate store and bring his death certificate. I said I lived in London, where I’d never seen an AT&T store, corporate or otherwise. She said if I couldn’t go to a store, I should try accessing the account online.

I did that, but the thing is my dad never wrote anything down. Not pin numbers or passwords, much less the name of his first grade teacher or childhood pets.

I was so sure his favorite restaurant was Testa’s. It’s there we celebrated his 90th birthday with family and friends. What a night! Then again, it could be Green’s where we’d been going for burgers and chocolate milkshakes since I was five. Or maybe it was Toojay’s where they had those wonderful black and white cookies my dad loved.

It turns out it was none of those restaurants and after three tries I got blocked from the account.

I called back. This time, I got a nice lady, whose name I wish I remembered. She seemed genuinely sorry my dad had died. I told her I should have switched the account into my name years ago, but the thing is, my Dad was in his 90s. He enjoyed managing my apartment expenses and our housekeeping chats. He liked helping me out. I didn’t have the heart to ask him to stop. It implied I didn’t think he’d be around forever.

Your nice employee managed to circumvent the system so I could get into the account and automate the billing process. It would still be in my dad’s name but bills would be paid automatically and I would get emails. I was so grateful.

But then I did something stupid. It was Christmas, two years after my dad died and the first time I’d been to Florida since Covid. I thought it was worth spending an afternoon of my holiday at an AT&T corporate store to set things right. Bills were being paid and I had online access, but because it was still in my dad’s name I couldn’t put services on hold when I wasn’t there. I was paying $100 a month for phone, cable and internet in an empty apartment.

So there I was in line at the strip mall corporate store, death certificate in hand, while my family hung out at the beach. When it was finally my turn, the store manager said the agent who sent me there was incorrect. I couldn’t change the account in person. I had to call AT&T.

Distraught and back to square one, I may have had a minor meltdown. It worked! An agent waved me over and offered to help. We spent the next hour together. Problem solved!

But it wasn’t. I returned home to discover I could no longer log into the account. So, still on vacation, I called you again. I went through three people before I finally got someone to help. And boy, was she convincing. Even I, who was pretty skeptical by this point, believed her when she said it was all sorted. I was so happy, I skipped off to the beach.

Then I got back to London and realized she hadn’t told me about a verification step involving a US phone. So there I was, now at 50p a minute, on hold with you again. Exasperated, I eventually hung up.

Time passed. I tried not to think of the $100 spent each month. At least there was that warm feeling I got when emails came addressed to my dad. It was like he was still with us.

But then one gray London day, I steeled my courage and picked up the phone. I had to sort this out. But while I was on hold, something dawned on me. Did I even need you?

I didn’t need a landline in Florida (I had a cell phone) or the cable service you provided (I had Roku). It was just broadband and I could get one of those plug-in devices for the few weeks we visited.

So I decided to cancel the service altogether, but of course you thought of that! Your rep told me I couldn’t cancel the service because it wasn’t in my name.

At that point, I laughed. Actually, I was laughing pretty hard. Or maybe they were tears. I think, AT&T, you’ve made me a little crazy. I may have scared your representative, and I am sorry for that. Strangely, I felt better afterwards, even though I was back to where I’d started.

Last April, in Florida, I found a letter in my mailbox from you. It thanked my (deceased) dad for switching to a new account, and included a gift card with the balance from the old account. Confused but delighted, I took my daughter to Toojay’s, where the waitress didn’t bat an eye when I paid with a gift card in a man’s name. At the end of the meal, we ordered those black and white cookies my dad loved, and toasted his memory. So that really was special. Thank you AT&T!

Eventually, you finally, miraculously, managed to switch the services into my name. Soon after, I put them on hold. I am glad to have this episode behind me. But the truth is, some days, I feel like we just don’t talk anymore.

Sincerely yours,

Stephanie Gruner Buckley