Burlaki on the Hudson

Consumer energy markets have been deregulated for a few years now. A household in New Jersey has a choice of buying their electricity and/or gas from a range of suppliers. In theory, that gives the consumer the opportunity to shop around for the best rates and save a bundle on utility bills. In practice, my first experiment with that turned out to be less than positive.

The main reason for that is that while you can make a decision to switch to another energy provider “in seconds”, the switch does not occur for at least a month and a half after you place an order, which largely negates your ability to vote with your feet when you do not like the price. Furthermore, while there are plenty of easy ways to find deals on gas and electricity, you will be hard-pressed to accurately ascertain what the regular cost of energy is going to be like once the teaser rate expires.

Mid-way through last year, I decide to shop around for an alternative electricity supplier. There are quite a few of them keen to have me as a customer. They provide handy favorable comparisons of their introductory rates with that of my public utility (JCP&L – Jersey Central Power and Light), they include various bonuses for my signing up, and many do not demand any contractual obligations on my end. The fine print always says something along the lines of “After your introductory discount rate expires, we will charge you our market rate, which is currently X cents per KWh”. That last number is still somewhat lower than the current rate charged by JCP&L. Sounds like a reasonable deal.

I pick one of the companies that promise me 15% savings every month for an introductory period. It is called Energy Plus. They tell me they can switch me to their supply only several weeks down the line. When I ask why the wait, the incomprehensible explanation boils down to “such are the regulations”. That does not register with me as a potential future problem. I place the order nonetheless.

Over the next few months, electricity rate stays as advertized, which means I am saving those 15% or so every month. But when I get my first electricity bill after the introductory period, in late December, I am in for a nasty surprise. The rate skyrocketed to the point where I am now paying over 30% above what JCP&L would charge.

I call the supplier and get the “we are sorry you are unhappy, but there is nothing we can do” treatment. “These are our current rates”, I am being told. When I attempt to point out the fine print of the introductory offer and the reasonable market rate mentioned there, I hear that “true, those were the rates then, but energy rates are variable and the current rate is what it is today”.

Ok, I say, I am not going to remain your customer then. And that’s when I get knocked out: “If that is what you want to do, JCP&L will become your supplier again two weeks after your next billing cycle“. What!? I am supposed to keep paying your ridiculous rates for another month-plus?!?! “Yes, that’s the earliest we can switch you back”.

I call the public utility, and the person on the other end is understanding and all too willing to humor a sad idiot who wanted to get better rates elsewhere and now is coming back with his tail between his legs. But, no, she cannot do anything to expedite the switch either. She cannot give me a comprehensible explanation of why it is not possible to switch my supply quickly given that delivery remains through the same exact channels managed by none other than JCP&L. “This is how it works”, she says, “You should always expect the switch to take up to 45 days”.

So I end up paying another month of exorbitant rates. Electricity bill being naturally smaller in winter, I calculate that I still come out with some savings over the course of the entire experiment, but a serious chunk of my gains has gone down the drain in the last two and a half months before Energy Plus is no longer my supplier after mid-February.

I am afraid that puts me off further experimenting. I don’t know why I should have trust in the public utility being more conscientious about their rates, but I definitely have no trust in those alternative providers now.

Customerography

Among the recent junk in our mailbox, Natasha received a cruise offer. Straight to the recycling bin, normally. Except! This one was addressed to her maiden name, correctly spelled in all its 13-character glory. And yet, it had our current address.

How would a marketing company be able to tie a long-unused maiden name with a relatively new place of residence of its owner? The only plausible explanation is via a credit-card application. Those often have a maiden name line item on them, and Natasha did obtain a new airline-affiliated card a year or so ago.

I hold moderate views when it comes to privacy concerns and I rarely extend any effort to opt out of information sharing policies that various corporations that we are doing business with have. But it is somewhat disconcerting when information you don’t expect to be shared is not only shared but is then blatantly misused. I suspect I might become a bit more militant about it from now on.

Customerography

Along with uncounted others, I have been unpleasantly – to use a mild term – surprised by Netflix’s changes in the pricing structure announced a couple of weeks ago. Without offering me any additional services or perks, they decided unilaterally to jack up my monthly subscription 60%.

Noting the uncanny parallel with another 60% rise in costs that I had meekly swallowed in the past1, I have to admit that this is what I’m going to do in the end – meekly swallow it.

The reasons are simple. First of all, additional $6 a month are not worth getting too much worked up about, even as a matter of principle – if something breaks our family budget, it won’t be this. I like movies well enough and enjoy home-bound watching well enough to find the service valuable. With a single-movie-at-home plan, I probably get to watch between 4 and 6 movies a month via Netflix-mailed DVDs – and paying just $8 for that sounds like a pretty good deal no matter how you slice it.

Streaming – which will now cost additional eight bucks – is a slightly different matter. The available selection is not nearly worth the expense from my personal point of view. Since first subscribing to Netflix, I hardly watched a handful of titles from the streaming menu. I’m sure I could do without it, no problem. Except, my kids apparently like the availability of many seasons of TV shows – which are of no use to me – and watch something almost daily. It makes no sense to me to take that away from them.

I also cannot think of alternatives that offer everything that we collectively need at the minimum hassle and considerably more advantageous price overall. Streaming from elsewhere is subject to the same – or different – content limitations, with an extra cost attached to having more choices. Renting DVDs elsewhere either does not offer any savings in cost, or is less convenient, or both.

In the end, I grumbled a bit and I considered taking a principled stand against corporate arbitrariness, but all I’ll do is shell out those additional six bucks every month. “Sir, thank you, sir! May I have another, sir!?”

But don’t deceive yourself, Netflix. Another such stunt, and I’ll be leaving for sure!

Or not.

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1Eventually, decisions of my corporate overlords helped me get back at NJ Transit for hiking their fares that much on me. As we moved to another office in a different part of Manhattan, I switched to an alternative bus route served by another company, stopped being a NJ Transit customer – and reduced my commuting expense back to reasonable levels in the process.

Customerography

When I went abroad for the first time while owning an iPad, I decided to try out AT&T international 3G plan.

The verdict: Never again, it’s a waste of money.

The plan is supposed to be for a full month, but the data allowances are ridiculously un-balanced towards minuscule amounts for a lot of money. The most “generous” plan, allowing 200 MB, costs $200. The cheapest option, at $25, gives you only 20 MB.

With my normal daily routine in the US, I use up around 150 MB per week on my iPad. That includes reading blogs, checking emails, communicating with friends via chat and messaging, checking Facebook and other social sites, etc. I figured if I only were to look through my inbox, open an occasional important email, and use a few websites for tourist orientation stuff, I might be able to stretch 20 MB over 5-6 days. So I bought the cheapest option.

In less than 48 hours after landing in Madrid, my allowance was two-thirds depleted. In that time, I sent a handful text messages to my kids on iPad apps, looked through my inbox twice, opened one single email, and checked two restaurant websites. The next day, the balance went to zero with not a single additional browse or load action from me. All of those 20 megs must have been eaten by whatever “roaming” iPad was doing when the roaming switch was not turned off (but when I did turn it off I could not do any browsing, so I had to remember to turn it off after using the iPad, which I actually only remembered to do once).

Not happy about that.

I would be better off not paying AT&T a dime and relying instead on random Wi-Fi hotspots and much-less-random Starbucks.

Customerography

A little house problem: The dryer suddenly starts leaving clothes damp after a full cycle. What do I know about dryers? Nothing. I’m only aware of the fact that this is a ten year old unit, that we did not want to extend “service plan” for it last year, and that a flat-rate service call costs $150 before any replacement part costs and additional labor.

I look through available trouble-shooting documentation. It tells me to check the exhaust pipe for blockage. I am useful enough with the tools to be able to do that. No luck, though. There is no blockage in the pipe or at the vent.

What’s the information-age guy to do when he needs DIY repairs? Use internet, of course. I go to the manufacturer site in search of additional documentation. Fail. I google the exact model of the dryer. There are dozens of links to sales of newer models, and one or two forum links discussing various issues, but nothing I can use for my specific case. Finally, I start typing more generic queries into Google, hoping to hit upon a general repair advice.

One of the search results is a link to a site called Just Answer. Clicking on the URL, I get a comparatively simple page with a promising subtitle of “Ask an Appliance Question, Get an Answer ASAP!”, a form asking me to type in my question, and a button that says “Get an Answer”.

It would be too easy if that was all it took to figure out my problem, of course. There is no free lunch to be had – in order to get a qualified help, I have to pay. A follow-up question asks me to identify how much an answer to the question is worth to me; the cheapest option is $14. I have to stop for a while to figure out how the site works.

It turns out that the concept is quite simple. I make a good-faith deposit via PayPal to an “escrow” account, get to ask my question and receive assistance from one of the registered experts (nearly a dozen of them are supposedly online, so the answer should really be expected nearly instantaneously). I then have an option to follow-up with additional questions on the same subject. If I am satisfied with the assistance, I can “accept” the answer, which will result in the escrow money being transferred to the expert. If I am not satisfied for any reason, the FAQ says my deposit is fully refundable.

The terms sounds reasonable to me. I obviously do not want to pay up front for something of unproven-to-me quality. On the other hand, $14 do not sound like a tremendous amount of money to part with if I can get a useful advice. Not in a general sense of things, but in comparison with the aforementioned service call fee.

So, I type in the detailed question, mentioning the already performed exhaust pipe check. My question is picked by someone with a nickname of “Dr Appliance” who comes back in literally two minutes with the following advice: It is possible that the blockage exists somewhere within the vent system, so I should try to run a cycle in the dryer with a disconnected exhaust pipe; lint will fly around the laundry room, but if the clothes come out dry, then the problem is isolated, and the service call will be not to the appliance repair but to a chimneys and vents contractor.

As I read the response, a light bulb goes in my head. Dryer vent comes right out on the patio directly from the laundry. I walk outside, and take out the outer grill from the vent. It is completely covered in tightly pressed lint. It takes me sixty seconds to clean it and put it back. In about an hour, as the dryer cycle finishes, the clothes come out of it as dry as they can be.

Something I could have easily figured out myself. But I didn’t. Whoever that Dr Appliance was, he steered me to the correct action. As far as I’m concerned, he earned his fourteen bucks. I “accepted” his response, and officially paid some stranger for an advice. The website allows for “bonuses” to be added on top of the fee, but I didn’t feel like further validating my general ineptitude with extra donations.

I have to say I see future use of this website for myself. Especially since it is not only specializing in appliances. I could get advice on computer programming. Or parenting…

Chronicles, Customerography

When I first settled in New York City, the single public transportation fare was $1.10. Today, it’s $2.25. More than 100% increase over the course of nearly 20 years. Adjusting for inflation, however, it comes to only about 32% over that time.

At the beginning of this month, New Jersey Transit effected a fare hike. 25% increase across the board, for trains and commuter buses. The monthly commuter bus pass from my zone that used to cost $259 now costs $324.

I can appreciate the fact that in these days of state budget holes and continuing economic duress, raising the public transportation fares is one way to lessen the state’s financial pains. I also cannot truly begrudge a fare increase after it has remained unchanged for a decade. After all, adjusting for inflation, $259 10 years ago happens to be the equivalent of roughly $320 today, which means the prices are just catching up to the inflation.

Except…

I work remotely often enough that the most advantageous fare for me was not the monthly commuter pass, but rather the 10-trip pack. On my route, it was offered at 33% discount to the single fare per each trip. More importantly, it was priced at a 25% premium to the single ride cost as calculated against the monthly pass cost (assuming 22 work-days in a month; the premium was considerably lower in, say, 19-day February). In other words, I had to work from home as few as 2 and never more than 6 days in any given month – depending on the actual number of work-days – to make the 10-trip option the cheapest for me.

I work out of my home office easily twice a week nowadays. My bus ticket cost hovered around $200 for the last six-seven months.

With the fare hike, the equation changed. The 10-trip pack is still available, but its cost was raised by whopping 60%. It is now offered at a mere 17.5% discount to the single fare per each trip (whose price has gone up by 25%). The premium over a single ride cost as calculated against the commuter pass for a 22-day month ended up at nearly 60% as well, which theoretically makes the monthly pass considerably more attractive – 14 days of commuting a month and I spend less with the pass than I’d spend with the 10-packs. But given that that’s right about the number of days I come to Manhattan in a given month, no matter whether I continue to buy 10-packs or switch to monthly passes, my new commuting expense will be about the same – 60% higher than it was before.

Ouch! My share of plugging the state’s financial hole seems a bit disproportional. The gradual increase of the NYC Subway fare over the years pales in comparison…

Customerography

A friend was buying event tickets online. She typed in her credit card number and all of the required information and received the following response on the screen:

Your transaction could not be completed because of Reason #2.

Who designs these things, anyway?

Customerography

I know quite a number of technology people with strong opinions about Microsoft and its products. Usually, not too positive ones. That does not prevent most of those people continue to use Microsoft products all the time, especially seeing how PC software have always been easier and cheaper to come by as opposed to, say, software for Macs.

Me, I never had to develop software on Microsoft platforms during my career and I never had much of a problem with my home PCs either, so I am a reasonably content PC person, always amused with anti-PC exaggerations in the mostly entertaining John Hodgman/Justin Long commercials.

I am also a late adopter who has never ever upgraded an operating system on a home PC. Moore’s Law in hand, I simply get better hardware once every few years, and use whatever comes pre-installed on it, which is more likely than not at the Service Pack 2 level by that time, meaning that all of the initial most annoying problems have been resolved already.

My last PC purchases until recently have been made before our move to England in pre-Vista days, so I have been happily running XP on all home devices. But I decided to renew almost all of the family home computers upon settling down back in the US. Before Windows 7 came out, so that my late-adopter bona fides were not impacted. Having never heard a single good thing about Vista, I made sure that my own new PC had XP installed on top of Vista installation. But for the new computers for kids, I did not bother with such specifics and ordered standard-configuration devices that came with Vista pre-installed.

One of those PCs came with an “invitation” for a free upgrade to then soon-to-be-released Windows 7. I misplaced that leaflet originally, but then came across it a couple of weeks ago. Late adopter or not, a free upgrade is a free upgrade. The information on the leaflet specified that I would be ordering an upgrade disk rather than doing any sort of on-the-spot installation, so I figured I’d get the disk while I was still inside the eligible time period and then decide whether to use it on some computer later.

I go to the online ordering site, type in the upgrade code from the leaflet, and learn that I am entitled to an upgrade from Vista Business Premium edition. Oops! The Vista installations that I have in the house are all Home Premium. The accompanying note on the website instructs me to be absolutely sure that I am ordering the correct upgrade, else it will not work.

I click through a couple of pages to find the appropriate support number, pick up the phone and within a few seconds speak to an “upgrade project team” member who introduces himself as John. After hearing my overview of the problem, he profusely apologizes for a mix-up and assures me that it is easily fixed. All he needs is the supporting documentation (literally, a scan of my upgrade leaflet and a print-screen of the operating system info from the PC in question) and my shipping address, so that they can order the proper upgrade version for me directly. Fifteen minutes later, I have the necessary jpegs which I send on to the e-mail provided to me over the phone.

Within 30 minutes, I get an email response from someone named Mario asking me for additional information needed to place the order. Apparently, my daytime phone number is necessary. I immediately respond. Within another hour or so, I get another email from someone named Malik that all of my information was received and sent up to the “processing department”. As soon as they review and approve, my order would be placed.

Next day, I receive an email from someone whose name I do not recall notifying me that my order has been placed. In less than 24 hours, yet another email comes, of seemingly automated nature, advising me that my order has been shipped and providing the tracking number.

A few days later, I get the package in the mail, with the Windows 7 Home Premium upgrade disk in it.

I’ve seen some efficient product-replacement issue resolutions (and even blogged about something of the kind), but this was right up there on the Great Service plane. Quite unexpected, to be sure. Props to Microsoft.

Now, do I really want to futz around with an almost brand-new PC that probably can safely run Vista for several years, given that its primary user – a certain 9-year-old – is only interested in internet and streaming video…

Customerography

Some two years ago, I wrote a cost comparison entry for basic UK-vs-US costs. It was based on generalizations rather than some hard data, but I hope it was useful for someone.

Having now been back in the States for a few months, I am probably due an updated treatise on the subject. And, predictably, I find it hard to work up any sort of enthusiasm for an exercise of this kind. Fortunately, my lovely wife has come to my rescue, at least partially. She made quite a few references in these past months that she finds some foodstuff costs to be higher in the US compared to what we knew in the UK, and she graciously agreed to perform a sort of analysis, which I now present for my audience.

A few important notes. One, the comparison is between suburban New Jersey (Middlesex/Monmouth counties, to be precise) and outer edges of Greater London (Lewisham/Greenwich boroughs); it is more than likely than the prices will be different the closer you get to Central London or if you put New York City into the equation. Two, the exchange rate has been holding relatively steady between $1.6-1.7 per pound sterling; I am going to use 1.7 for the conversion. Three, as noted in comments to that old post, UK local salaries are generally numerically lower than respective US ones, which means that proportional outlay for any given product may actually be higher even when the absolute cost is lower; for the purposes of this highly scientific study, we will imagine ourselves receiving a US-based salary, as if we were on an expat package.
Read more…

Customerography, Expat Topic

Natasha was shopping for new beds and mattresses before we could move into the new house.

She walked into a local franchise of Sleepy’s.

The shop was empty save for a lone salesperson. He eagerly approached his prospective customer and offered his help. What followed was an in-depth investigation of the entire stock. Natasha first laid down on a special adjustable bed, was told to relax as if she was falling asleep, and then to grade her comfort at different levels of mattress hardness. That was repeated in different “sleeping” positions – back, side, stomach… (here is the link on Sleepy’s website). Afterwards, Natasha plopped down on every available sample of the level of plushness that she liked the most. The sales guy and her discussed the fine points of density, core and tufting.

All that took a good hour and a half. In the end, Natasha bought a couple of nice mattresses for the family. The total bill was considerably lower than her expectations going in – there was enough of “promotional” room for the salesperson to make the deal attractive.

During that time, not a single other customer walked through the doors of the shop. Not one.

Later that same week, we together went to a couple of nearby furniture outlets to check out potential acquisitions. Again, the galleries were empty. The rare salespeople were fawning. We did not buy anything, being not exactly sure what we wanted and having not seen anything that immediately struck our fancy, but the overall experience was rather weird.

Furniture and mattresses are not everyday type of purchases, and people clearly cut back on buying that in the current economic climate. Surprisingly – or inexplicably – this was my first first-hand experience of how the recession affected commerce. Commuter buses fill up, restaurants have plenty of customers, everywhere I’ve been going in the last year or so, it was not readily noticeable that the crowds may have been thinner. Visiting a couple of empty higher-end shops was a bit of a jolt in that respect.

I suppose IKEA is doing an even livelier business than in years past, though…

Customerography

So I had 11 direct inquiries about our timeshare week that we put up for donation a while ago. I turned everybody away and, lately, directed them to contact the sales department of the closing company dealing with my donation.

The closing company did not make any contacts with me during roughly six months since their original “we are looking to serve you in a timely and efficient manner” greeting. I periodically checked the online status of my file, which even suggested that a buyer was identified and the transaction was proceeding.

I finally decided to write to the closing company with a not-exactly-complaint that six months’ time was a couple of months over what they initially suggested as the reasonable length of the process. The response I received cordially informed me that the prospective buyer pulled out for one reason or another and that no other buyers could be identified. Therefore, my file was closed and the donation cancelled. “But thank you for your interest”, the email concluded.

I wrote back a snarky and annoyed response, pointing out that I missed on 11 opportunities to sell the week, while the inept “sales department” could not find more than one buyer; and that “timely and efficient manner” does not mean what the Resort Closings, Inc., thinks it means. I felt better as one could only feel after dispensing a brilliant tongue-lashing…

I asked the most recent prospective direct buyer whether she was interested in going ahead with the purchase. She said she was very interested and asked me a ton of questions. I answered some, but for most, I pointed her to a website with pretty good FAQs on the process.

She responded today that she decided to look for a timeshare in another part of Florida instead. She then proceeded to list various items that I “need to have ready” when a prospective buyer contacts me. I don’t recall asking for an advice, but that’s my net gain from this transaction so far.

I suppose I have nothing to lose by contacting all of those other people whom I have turned away to see if they may still be interested. If not, I’ll try donating again through a different channel.

Epic fail! Deserving, too1.

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1 As Natasha keeps reminding me, she was not too enthusiastic about getting into interval ownership in the first place. It was I who felt that buying a timeshare week was a grand idea back in 1995.

Chronicles, Customerography

I only once, in passing (look for Florida in that post), mentioned on this blog that we own a timeshare. Without going much into pros and cons of such a possession, we have long concluded that it would be to our benefit to get rid of it.

I had our week up for sale for years, with not a single prospective buyer. Literally, I could not give it away, even though it is a “hot season” week in a reasonably attractive location. Once, a couple of years ago, some “resale agent” whom I contacted, indicated to me that he would take the week off me for a grand sum of $99 (we paid about seven grand for it in 1995, btw), but after some back and forth emailing he disappeared and eventually responded to my persistent messages that he was no longer interested.

A few months ago, Natasha came across a concept of donating the timeshare to charity. It did not cost us any extra, so we submitted our week for donation. The process normally takes a few months, so only a day or two ago I was informed that the week finally went to the “sales department” for liquidation, and once a buyer is found, I will get closing documents to sign.

The funny thing is, literally a week after I submitted the week for donation, I got the first direct offer for the week from an interested buyer. And since then, eight more of the kind.

Not a single offer in five or six years that the week has been up for sale. Nine offers in just the last 3 months.

And I have to turn them all away (although, now I can point them to that sales department)…

There must be some property (and/or, financial) market forces that are making timeshare ownership more attractive to more people. I am suddenly quite optimistic that even if donation somehow falls through, I should be able to find a buyer for the timeshare this year.

And if any of my readers are at all interested, feel free to jot me a note, and I can give you the phone number at which to inquire about my week.

Customerography

In the first few months upon our arrival in England, I occasionally ranted about what I perceived as inadequate customer service prevalent in British business. (Various older articles filed under Customerography make mention of our aggravating experiences in that regard; one of the best examples was in this article.)

With time, we sort of gotten used to how Brits approach customer service. Or, maybe, just stopped finding ourselves in circumstances that bothered us. So, when a situation of the kind flares up, it feels all the more exceptional and worthy of an angry – or, rather, amused – rant these days. Except that the latest example involves not a British but an American company, USAirways, and its customer service.

This is a fairly long story with quite a bit of stage-setting, so I’m hiding it below the cut for the sake of those not very much interested in these types of topics. Feel free to skip if you belong to that category.
Read more…

Customerography

A few weeks ago, one of our most important appliances – the food processor – started malfunctioning. As soon as it was plugged in, it would start whirring and would not stop unless unplugged. While theoretically still usable, it became a nuisance to operate, scuffling some of Natasha’s most favorite experimentations with patés, salads and salsas.

As I was steeling myself for a protracted suffering from deprivation of some of my most-loved treats, Natasha picked up the Cuisinart documentation and realized that the processor was under 20-year manufacturer’s warranty. She called the customer service and was assured that they would replace the faulty unit.

Here is the timeline of the events as they unfolded:

    Thursday – Natasha calls Cuisinart customer service.
    Friday – postage label for sending the unit in arrives in our mail.
    Monday – Natasha ships the unit to the address on the label.
    Thursday – a brand-new food processor arrives at our house.

If somebody told me that a replacement appliance can be obtained within one single week, after a procedure that involves three separate mailings, I’d probably respond with “That can’t be true!” But here we are.

Nicely done, Cuisinart! We already had quite a few of Natasha’s succulent concoctions with a kind word for your service.

Customerography

If anyone cares how the call limit debacle ended, feel free to look below the fold to learn how it surprisingly concluded to my [almost] entire satisfaction.
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Customerography

I have not mentioned the concept of the call limit in the past, and yesterday we unwittingly ran afoul of it.

In a nutshell, when a landline phone service is being established in the UK, the phone company determines the monetary limit that the customer should stay under during any given billing cycle. Exceed the limit – and your outgoing calls are summarily blocked unless you pay down the balance with a credit card (if you are so inclined, you can wait to pay your bill in the normal fashion at the end of the cycle, but you will only be able to receive calls during this time).
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Customerography, That's England

Say, you browse a store, any store, and come across an attractive item that is on sale. You’d be lukewarm to the idea of obtaining said item at its original listed price, but an ability to buy it at a discount closes the deal for you.

Now, suppose, as you reach the checkout and a clerk scans the barcode in, the original non-discounted price comes up on the register. You point out to the cashier that the advertised price is considerably below what they are attempting to charge you. What do you hear in response?

Read more…

Customerography, That's England

I have written before (say, here) about the calling plan that we have in the UK. The name of the plan is TalkTalk and it is with the company called Carphone Warehouse. For a basic monthly charge of £20, we do not pay anything at all for landline calls. And not only within the UK, but also within 35 other countries (pretty much all of Europe, plus Canada, Australia, New Zealand and, most importantly, the US). Calls to mobiles and to toll service lines are extra, but that amounts to a minuscule amount, while allowing us practically unlimited phone time with friends and family. (There is a 69-minute limit, after which the charges start accruing, but simply hang up, redial, and you have yourself another hour-plus of free talk).

Except, Russia is not one of the 35 countries covered by the free service and is quite costly to call. Natasha, obviously, regularly calls her family there, and the frequency of her calls has understandably increased of late. At something around 60p a minute, though, lengthy frequent calls would run us huge charges…

The solution? Easy. Buy an American calling card that gives you 400 minutes for $5, and dial through its US-based access number. Since calling the US is free for us, the cost of the call is exactly what it would be by using the calling card from, say, a New Jersey landline. Ingenious!

Of course, these calling cards never deliver on their promise, and with hidden charges and what not, you probably only get 100 minutes or so, but the difference between 5¢ and 60p per minute is quite considerable, wouldn’t you say?

Customerography, Expat Topic

Tying a few of old threads today.
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Chronicles, Customerography

Continuing with the driving license thread, Natasha finally has scheduled her practical test for sometime in November, and in the meantime, decided to take a lesson or two. The rationale is obviously not to practice driving, but to practice passing the test. At the first lesson, as soon as she pulled out, the instructor remarked that she made five mistakes in the process. Are you kidding me?! The guy is probably looking to scaring her into signing up for additional lessons. Yet, there is little doubt that an examiner during the test will be pedantic in looking for very specific behavior and actions and unreceptive to the notion of prior driving experience, so it makes sense to learn the right formula.
Read more…

Chronicles, Customerography