More from Ofir:

I’ve got five lines on the account, all at crazy price plan levels. I don’t know which-is-which, apart from my main number. And Vodafone UK’s online account management is so dire that I decided I’d go into a shop and sort it out.

I liked the idea of perusing my account screen with the helpful Vodafone sales chaps. I didn’t like the idea of phoning up customer service because I couldn’t easily visualise the accounts. I figured it would take 3 times as long to go through the changes I needed to make via voice. I didn’t want to wind up the customer services agent and I reckoned, if I picked a Vodafone shop in London when they were reasonably empty, I could spend 10 minutes sorting things out in person.

That’s the beauty of Vodafone. It’s all connected. Setting aside the fact you can’t really *do* much with your online account management (i.e. change price plans — I always get errors), I liked the fact I could walk into any Vodafone shop, the length and breadth of the United Kingdom, and be able to discuss my account within seconds. It’s all so smart. All so connected.

Phone up and they can help you. Walk into any store and they can call up your account there and then and woosh, you can walk out with a new handset if you like. All you need to do is confirm your primary phone number, name/address or show some ID and bish, bash, bosh, you’re done.

It may not sound *that* amazing, but remember o2 stores can’t help you unless you can remember your account number. You literally have to stand in the shop phoning o2 customer service to retrieve your account number, THEN the chaps can help you.

And 3… don’t get me started on 3. They’re better now, but they used to be completely 100% unable to service existing customers. It was a dire experience if you were already a customer. You’d walk in, hoping to upgrade, then be told to phone customer service and do the deal via phone because their systems weren’t setup. Thankfully they’ve rectified that.

But something strange has happened to Vodafone recently, if today’s experience is accurate across the whole store network.

I walked into the Oxford Street (near Soho) branch this evening. They weren’t too busy and I was approached by a helpful chap within seconds.

“I’d like to make some changes to my price plans,” I said, “And possibly upgrade one of the lines — I’ve got five on my account.”

The chap did a ‘let me stop you there look’ before telling me, “Sorry sir, I’m afraid you have to call up for that.”

I looked at him.

In fact my look said: “YOU WHAT?”

“Yes,” he continued, “If we do it in-store, you’ll have to add an extra 6 months to your contract if you change price plans?”

I looked at him again.

You what?

“Er, well, can you tell me if any of my accounts are free of contract yet?” I asked, crestfallen.

“Sure!” he snapped with efficient politeness.

We headed to the back of the shop. I gave him my details. Within seconds he was telling me that one of my 12-month lines was out of contract.

“You can get a G2 for £90 on an 18-month contract,” he said.

Riight, I said, considering the 600 a month I’m spending. That’s a whopping 7,200 pounds a year. If you assume a G2 costs an arbitrary £400, I could buy 18 of them a year for what I’m blowing with Vodafone.

He came up with another option, “Or, if you’d like a 24-month contract on that line, the G2 would be just £5?”

Right.

I saw the manager — or a ’suit’ was standing nearby so I thought I’d try out the entrepreneurialism.

“So I’m spending at least 600 a month with you,” I prompted.

My sales guy looked at my recent bills.

“Er, yeah,” he said.

I glanced in the direction of the manager, standing next to him not paying any attention.

“So, you can’t change my price plans here…”

- “No sir,” he interrupted again, “You have to phone 191 [Customer Services]. Unless you’re upgrading, we can’t help [smile].”

“And despite the fact I’m paying 600 a month, you can’t just give me a G2, you need to charge me five pounds?”

“As I said,” he replied patiently, “You do need to talk to customer services.”

Right.

So it’s cookie-cutter time.

I’m exactly the same as someone paying Vodafone £15 per month. In fact given the amount of attention my brother gets on a month-to-month £25 contract (he’s getting how-are-you-doing-sir calls each month urging him to upgrade to a contract with special terms), I think he’s getting a better service level.

What’s the point of a branch network if you can’t service me and my £7,200 expenditure.

And at what point do I sit back and think seven grand is just a stupid, stupid amount to be paying.

That amount is a reflection of my relationship with Vodafone. I was hugely delighted. I didn’t mind the expenditure. It is certainly a business expense for the company — indeed, the Bold, the Dell Mini laptop, those weren’t entirely necessary for me personally but they were super-necessary for the business, to make sure I could deliver decent reviews and competent reporting.

But now, well, I think I could get by on £20-30 per month. Give me 600 minutes, unlimited texts and ‘unlimited’ data and you know what, that’ll work.

And it just takes one experience to really change your perspective.

What the hell am I doing paying them that amount of cash?

Well, obviously, I was going into their shop to reduce that down — to remove and reduce the unnecessary 65, 80, 90 and 45 (or whatever) price plans that I’ve got running. Throw in some unnecessary (but previously useful) Blackberry service plans on a few of the lines. It all adds up. Plus VAT. Add in a bit of international roaming and before you know it, you’re at 600 quid.

Deary me.

It used to be blowing this kind of money on an operator, you’d be sent phones, devices, whatever in order to keep your head in the sand so that you didn’t actually do anything. Indeed if Vodafone had called me last week and offered me a G2 for free, along with something else, and something else… you know, ‘goodies’, I’d have reacted emotionally: Yes please and er, don’t worry about those price plan changes. That’d have been worth the cash to me. I understand the commercial realities that the operator has to face. But I also recognise that I’ve been giving them a heckuvalot of business and… well… it’s the age old customer issue isn’t it? I now think I’m paying a lot, lot more than I need to be and can’t see a reason to continue.

Tomorrow, Vodafone Customer Services and I have a date. A rather boring and extensive date where we go through each account in sequence and reduce them down to their (roughly) 15 quid/month minimums. And I need to cancel that 12-month one that’s already expired.

Like many of the UK’s contracted mobile customers, I’ll take note of the contract expiry dates on each line and start clock-watching.

Here’s a pic:

I was Palo Alto for a few meetings, one with a mobile titan (ID not public alas). The chap was running 30 minutes late (”Don’t worry, I’ll hit up* the Apple store”, I told him). I’d arrived in by the rather efficient ‘CalTrain’ early anyway so I strolled up University Avenue toward the Apple store.

I was having a look in the shop windows during the stroll and realised I was passing the Verizon Wireless store.

“Screw it,” I thought, “I’ve got some time, let’s go and have a look at Mr CDMA’s offerings.”

I arrived into the store and was immediately greeted by a lady with a clipboard. This is the way things work in America. At least, it’s been my experience with Sprint as well as Verizon.

(Conversations paraphrased from memory)

“How may I help you today?” the nice spritely shiny lady asked, clipboard and pen poised.

“Er I’m British,” I said. Best to get that off my chest.

She did a slow knowing nod.

British = Useless to Verizon. They either want to spend a good 20 minutes selling you a two-year credit agreement (and a handset) or get you out of the shop as quickly as possible with a prepay deal.

But if you’re foreign it’s a no-go. They don’t want your business. You need a US social security number to get started with them. This is fair enough — there are 303 million folk in the country, enough to be getting on with.

Even if you offer to prepay a 2-year contract in advance (e.g. $200 for a Storm on $80 a month is $2120. Offer them $3,000 up front and they’ll decline. Their system, I’m told, doesn’t ‘work that way’).

Anyway. I explained I was British and the lady put down her pen and let me pass.

Normally she’d have been ticking various boxes relating to what I was looking for. Then she’ll hand the resulting form to a sales chappy who, suitably briefed, will help me out.

I took a stroll about the place. I admired a few handsets. I glanced once or twice at the Storm, their handset du jour. Well, actually, their handset du year.

I had a look at the LG Versa.

“Can I help you, sir?”

I turned and found a helpful looking sales chap on my elbow.

“Er,” I said with continued embarrassment, “I’m sorry, I’m British, so… er…”

“Oh,” the chap said, eyes widening.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding, “It’s prepay or nothing, I know.”

I hung my head slightly as the chap nodded with me in sympathy.

With a tough of benevolence, he said I should ask him if I needed any help.

I thanked him.

“Alas, I’m a pariah,” I mumbled to myself, gazing over at the Samsung Omnia on the shelf. Windows Mobile, I know, but it thought it’d be worth a look. I went back to the Storm.

$199 on a 2-year contract.

I started selling it to myself.

“You have a duty to, you know, play about with these things,” I reasoned, calculating whether I really wanted to spunk something like $2,000 on ‘playing about’.

I only found out later that you could get a Blackberry Storm for $449 up-front on a month-to-month agreement. That, provided Verizon would have done a deal with an alien like me, would have bee interesting. I’d still have had quite a problem swallowing $449 unless I was aiming to use it as a primary device.

My key issue is that I’ve never actually used a Verizon handset for more than a day or so — and they’ve been rubbish prepay handsets. I’ve never really tried out the Verizon data network, for example. So I was warm.

But luckily for my bank balance, nobody tried to sell me a month-to-month Storm.

In fact, they’re not selling the Storm in Palo Alto. Although it’s on display, it’s not for sale. The sales team will do their best to avoid selling you one.

Is that a sweeping statement? Yes. Of course Verizon are selling Storms — by the bucketload by all accounts. Just not to me. And definitely not to the customer who came in after me.

I was pondering the possibility of a Windows Mobile handset when I heard a chap come into the shop. I glanced round as he approached me and the salesman who’d (sensibly?) given up on me.

“Hi,” he said, “I’m after a G-3 phone, the Blackberry Storm?”

“Right,” said the salesperson, “Well…”

“This is it here, is it?” the buyer said. He’d walked straight to it and was ready for the sale. He’d clearly seen it on television or been recommended it. The fact he got the ‘G-3′ (”3G”) bit wrong indicated an element of normob (”normal mobile user”) in his makeup. He knew what he wanted. He knew 3G, however you said it, was the way ahead. He was fondling the device and wanted to buy one.

“Er, you don’t want the Blackberry Storm,” said the salesman to the surprise of the buyer, “It’s buggy,” he continued.

“Buggy? Ah yeah..” said the buyer. He’d heard of that too and asked, “When will they bring out a software upgrade?”.

“Errrrr,” said the salesman, “Is it a touchscreen phone you’re looking for?” he said, beckoning the buyer to the other side of the store.

I missed a bit of their conversation — but I could make out the fact the salesman was trying to sell him some type of LG touchscreen.

The buyer did some quick evaluation before walking back to the Storm.

“Nah, tell me about the Storm?”

“It’s buggy, you don’t want that,” the salesman said.

“Right, but it works?” said the buyer. He clearly *just* wanted one. He was giving all the I-don’t-mind hints.

At that point I left the store.

I couldn’t handle it.

I was having a lot of trouble keeping my mouth shut and not slapping the salesman with a handy wet fish a few times.

As I left, the buyer was fondling the Storm clearly in I WILL BUY THIS PHONE mode. I think the salesman had relented at this point as I just caught, “Well, the touchscreen clicks when you press on it, the iPhone doesn’t have that,” as I walked out the door.

Well I never.

Palo Alto, spiritual home to Silicon Valley (and actual home to, amongst others, HP’s worldwide headquarters). By all means discourage the good normob people of Shitsville, Middle America, to avoid getting the Storm (they’ll only return it when they can’t figure out the keyboard). But in Palo Alto? When the chap strides in demanding a Storm? Give him one. Be pleased he’s aiming to swap from T-Mobile (he was) to Verizon instead of T-Mobile or, worse… the iPhone collective that is AT&T.

An interesting experience.

In the interests of fairness I am going to see if I can swim the myriad Verizon Wireless PR channels and get a hold of a Blackberry Storm to use for a month or so. I’ll keep you updated.

Meanwhile I encourage you to pop into your nearest Verizon store and ask for a Storm and report back your experiences. My experience today must surely have been an exception.

* “Hit up” — a fancy wanna-be-cool American way of saying “visit/talk to/connect with”.

Channel 5 is the newest of the UK’s terrestrial television channels. Look out for mobile interactivity on some of their flagship such as The Gadget Show and Fifth Gear soon.