So it's like this: SuperK and I are members in good standing of a large, faceless corporation.  We pay good money to belong to this organization and receive virtually nothing of value in return, outside of some peace of mind.  I know: it's not a very good deal for us, although peace of mind can be a very valuable commodity.  One of the benefits of a member in good standing is a membership number.  Let's say we've been given the number 47.

The large, faceless corporation has replaced our bad product with a marginally better product that they've decided is going to cost 3X more in our national currency.  Again, not a great deal for us.  So we decided to cancel the old, not very good but now a lot more expensive product and replace it with something completely different.  Because the product provides us with peace of mind it's very important that we don't cancel the old membership until we've received a new membership number.  The number is very important.  Without it, you can't call the corporation to find out why, in this particular instance, you're not going to receive any benefits for your membership.

"What's your membership number?" they ask, right away, in a vaguely aggressive manner.  If you can't give them a number you're shit out of luck.  I know this for a fact.  That number is the key to any unsatisfactory answers that you're going to get.

So we get a letter asking us to pay for the new product, which we do.  The letter gives us an application number but no new membership number.  Are we new members or mere applicants?  We don't know, so we call the big corporation.  We're shunted into their Voice Recognition System which listens to what you say and then asks if you've said something completely different.

"We'd like to check on our membership," we say.
"You'd like to chuck your friendship?" the machine says.

SuperK and begin to argue about whether we should be in the membership section or in the applicant section.  We're kind of both.  As we go at it we can hear the Voice Recognition Lady in the background asking us to repeat things or making helpful-sounding comments: "I'm sorry, I don't understand - did you want to chuck your friendship?"

As we continue to debate the VRL suddenly says: "I'm going to transfer you to a representative."

We collapse into laughter.  That's one smart VRL.

"I'm sorry but I'm tired of listening to you bitch at one another."

We were, of course, disconnected.