You'd think that Neil Gaiman lives the charmed life: novels debuting at #1 on the NYT bestseller list, cinematic adaptations and original screenplays out the ying-yang, another major comic series set to debut this summer, and all that jazz. But all that isn't enough to save him from the dread tentacles of MCI incompetence. After reaching his daughter's cell phone in London with just about every phone except his home line, he called the MCI operators to see why they couldn't get it to go through.

"I asked what she suggested. She said that if I wanted to call that number, maybe I needed a different carrier."

Much customer service hell of the email and phone varieties follows, even after he switched companies. I know, I know, this isn't really all that exciting as far as publishing industry gossip is concerned, but I just took some small bit of existential comfort in the thought that even famous writers are reduced to anonymous schlubs when facing the phone company.