The Red Horseshoe of Death is an interesting thing to witness.
I had never seen one in person before. Of course, there have been an overwhelming number of stories about them in the past couple years. Two podcasts I listen to over on cheapassgamer.com (The CAGcast and CAG Foreplay) both have recently discussed their own dead-console sagas. But to see it in person is a bit unbelievable. There's not a lot of shock or anger or sadness. It just fills you with a state of disbelief.
And it fills your friends with joyous wonder, since they get to see the lights firsthand and know they won't be the one to deal with getting it fixed.
My surprise was that the Xbox's death had no real precursor. I thought the system would crash a few times, or start making funky noises, or have some sort of problem leading up to total hardware failure. But just a couple hours before I had downloaded the free Aerosmith song for Guitar Hero 3 and tried it out. Then I uncharacteristically decided to turn off the Xbox and play some board games with my friends. Apparently Microsoft doesn't build its hardware to withstand rejection. It never worked again.
A couple days later, I finally got around to calling the Xbox service line. (First I had to verify that Microsoft had extended the warranty coverage to three years, since I had just passed my second year.) I expected busy signals or long waits on hold, but I got through right away.
The phone call was mostly unremarkable. I couldn't tell what the guy said his name was, but his accent didn't affect the clarity of the rest of the conversation to much. The call was mostly marred by the overwhelming noise behind him. Was he providing customer support while tending bar at a cocktail party?
As he was going over details of the repair process, I kept thinking "It sounds like he's calling me Kevin." He had me spell my last name, but not my first. But I had registered my Xbox when I got it, so surely he had that information in front of him and either misspoke, or I was misunderstanding him. And since I didn't know his name, it might be awkward to inquire to see if he really knew mine.
So, a few days go by and a white box shows up on my front porch. One step closer to playing Rock Band again, or so I thought.
That's when I looked closely at the label. He was calling me Kevin. And that's the name he put on the work order. Unfortunately, that's not my name. And that could possibly cause a problem when I had to sign to receive my repaired/replacement console.
Another call to 1-800-4MYXBOX. I spoke with a woman this time. Same accent, same moment of non-clarity when she spoke her name. Do they train them not to be clear with their name, thus cutting down on personal complaints?
I told her about the problem with the incorrect name on the mailing label. She hunts down my information with my work order number, then I'm placed on hold while she confers with her supervisor.
She soon returns and tells me that I can still use the box and labels and that she's updated the information on my work order to reflect the correct information. She also calls me "Kevin" three times during all of this. I correct her each time, and she assures me that she has changed my name in her computer.
She asks if there's anything else she can help me with. I mention there's a two inch hole that has been ripped in the corner of the box, and wonder if I can simply use a different box, or should I patch this one? This leads to a much longer conference with her supervisor, and I spend a few minutes playing "Guess That Xbox Muzak."
Finally, my Customer Service Rep With No Name returns with a shiny new work order number for me to write down. She lets me know they'll be sending me a brand new box. One step closer just became one step back.
Five more days pass, and my new plain white box arrives. I inspect it for any gaping holes. Nothing looks chewed or soggy, that's good. There's a dent in the side, but it is UPS, there's always a dent in the side.
I finally proceed to package my Xbox in the plastic wrapper that was provided. I was careful not to suffocate any babies with the bag as it explicitly instructs me to do. I added the green foam diapers to both end of my console and took a final picture, in case I never see it again.
The Xbox then was placed securely in the box and sealed with Microsoft's own personal line of tape (Scotch be damned). I drove it to a nearby UPS Store where I was ready for witty banter with a clerk. But instead, she simply processed my box and dismissed me. Perhaps my casualness made it seem like perhaps there wasn't a beloved Xbox inside the package, or maybe UPS employees have been instructed not to mention anything after experiencing a heated encounter with a touchy fanboy or two. Either way, this part of the story was concluded. Now I wait. And hope I will be home when they try to return my system.
P.S. My Xbox went to Texas. Is this normal? Other stories I have heard had them going to Mexico. I guess it won't be coming back with a tan and Montezuma's Revenge. Mesquite, Texas doesn't sound as exotic as a foreign country. But it does sound tasty.
