Dish Network Research: What am I missing?
February 1, 2007
So I’m back on that cable thing because Time Warner cable drives me batty (their lack of customer service, hour+ hold times, the whole bit.)
My goal is to find a suitable replacement (again, this is mainly for PaDucky’s benefit because Lord knows I haven’t watched tv in months) with a much longer term, preferably a year. I’ve used the DishBuilder feature to pick the programming package that suits my needs.
Option 1:
~ $19.99 Dish Family: I get a very basic package. 8 children’s channels, a few basic news channels, etc.
$$: This is the most basic package they have and does not qualify for any discounts or their “$100 rebate.”
Total: $240/year, as long as they don’t change the price on this package.
Option 2:
~ $29.99 America’s Top 100: I get most of the channels that I’m looking for, though I still don’t understand why I can’t find Bravo ANYwhere.
$$: With the $10 discount for ten months, this package will cost $19.99 for ten months, and then default to the $29.99/month. That’s about the same price as the current cable deal, and an ok top price that I’m willing to pay per month.
Total: $260/year.
The thing I really don’t get? The option to choose your local channels for an additional $5. Um, don’t I already get those? I don’t mean with my current cable company. I mean for FREE. Don’t I? Don’t we all? Does any Dish Network customer know what I’m missing here?
Hi. I have Dish Network, and I have America’s Top 120 ($44.99) and the locals ($5.00). I like Dish, although it sucks when there’s heavy rain cause it will lose signal. I also have the DVR which is great. Local channels aren’t included, unless specified.
If you have any specific questions, let me know.
~NTB~ Thanks for the input, I’m going to give them a call this weekend so we’ll see how that works out. I’m hoping to find a flyer/promo that waives the $50 activation fee without that 18 month contract though!
DISH Network is the worst, hands down, when it comes to automated phone service. I’ve gone through the phone system instruction seven times in an attempt to resolve my technical problem. This annoying automated male voice asks me, after pressing the correct number for technical support, to “check the batteries on your remote.” I do so, because I don’t want to appear scatterbrained in the opinion of the automated voice. God forbid. Batteries good.
The voice begins each sentence or question with ‘Okay…’ or “Let’s see…” in an apparent attempt to ingratiate me. I did a reboot. I reset the remote. I went through this each of the seven times I’ve called. I even had a new receiver sent to replace what I assumed was a broken receiver. Not the problem.
For my last foray into the beloved world of customer service, the human person (for whom I waited an astounding 46 minutes) told me I must go through the steps by phone before a technician is sent, or pay the price out-of-pocket for the call, which is $29.95 per hour, including drive time. I refused to go through the steps yet again. I asked to have a technician sent and reminded them of my warranty. I overheard this actual human person, Tiffany, speaking to another actual human person about how she finally “did” her brother’s friend, and hopes no one finds out. I was almost so bored with the aforementioned 46 minutes of mind-numbing phone hell to actually care about her sex life. Really. She returns to the line to tell me that I will have to speak to a supervisor. This sounds like a fabulous idea to me. Then, dead line. Ooops, we were cut off. Damn, I won’t find out who was on top and if they cuddled afterwards. I call back. This time, after chatting with automated Dish Man, a conversation sprinkled with my, “Sure thing, co*ksu*ker!” to his cheerful requests, I get a human in 22 minutes. I note that this is less than half of my original wait. I count my blessings. I tell this new human, who has just completed a weeklong community course in English as a Second Language, that for two months I’ve been experiencing the same problem, and I need help. I want a human to come to my home. I remind her that I’m still under warranty and throw in that DishMan has called me a valued customer at least twenty times. She is unimpressed, but schedules the human technician after two jaunts of “Um, hold on a minute…I need to,… um,…just hold on, okay?” She schedules the service call. I rejoice in that fact that although I’ve used foul language with automated DishMan, I’ve kept my actual conversations with the humans quite professional; cordial even. “Thanks for your help, honey-dumplin, I’ll be home on Thursday awaiting my technician!” (No, I didn’t SAY ‘honey-dumplin,’ I only thought it.)
I’m supposed to have a technician here between 8 am and noon today. I mean “was supposed to have…” I called in at 12:30pm to the automated system only to be told by DishMan, “Okay, I see that you have a service call scheduled for (second automated voice; this time female) Thursday, March 15th, 8 am to 12 pm. (now back to male voice) Please continue to wait for the allotted time.” Then I’m rerouted to the main menu. Okay, I think, perhaps they meant Eastern time. Cool. I think I’m being quite reasonable, considering that I’m a bit limited to television programming because I live in a remotely rural area. I am also not afforded the luxury of finding and killing DishMan with my bare hands, but I digress. Now, it’s 2:40. I’ve called back, spoken to a human (31 minutes this time) and, while I didn’t use an epithet, I did become belligerent. They tell me the technician is “en route.” He must be flying right behind the monkeys that are exiting my a$$.