Amazon’s customer support carousel. Naming names in a culture of handballing

Another day, another Amazon email. This time from Laura at Kindle Direct Publishing. Her message? Log into Amazon.com.au, try the same process again, and maybe—just maybe—it will work.

Let’s pause.

By now, I’ve documented—with screenshots, timestamps, and case numbers—that this process fails no matter which regional Amazon portal I use. I’ve supplied proof that the system rejects my Vietnam number as “unusual activity,” while simultaneously refusing to let me remove the dead Australian number that no longer works. I’ve shown how KDP tells me to talk to Retail, Retail tells me to talk to KDP, and SellerCentral loops me back into the same dead end.

And yet Laura’s email (like so many before hers) simply repeats boilerplate instructions. No one reads. No one escalates. No one takes ownership.

This is not customer service—it’s customer attrition. Each new “support” email simply adds another name to the roll call of people willing to parrot scripts but unwilling to resolve problems.

The roll call of handballers

Here are the Amazon staff who, instead of taking responsibility, have left me stranded in a closed loop of scripts and shrugs:

• Okiethia — KDP Customer Support Manager. Told me 2SV was a Retail issue, then handed me back to Retail without resolution.
• Zulpha — KDP Support Manager. Apologised for “inconvenience” and suggested a phone call, ignoring that my case notes already included my working Vietnam number and my medical need to avoid unscheduled calls.
• Eric — KDP Customer Support. Acknowledged my requests but suggested the “solution” might be to create an entirely new KDP account and transfer everything over—a nuclear option disguised as customer service.
• Laura — KDP Customer Support. Suggested I log in via Amazon.com.au and try again, despite my repeated screenshots proving that this fails. Yet another example of scripted advice without reading the history.

This is the carousel: new name, same script, no ownership.

Why it matters

I’ve been a customer for decades. I’m a military veteran managing PTSD. I’ve earned my royalties. Amazon is blocking me from accessing them, and the best they can do is send me back into the maze one more time.

What’s worse, no one has genuinely apologised beyond corporate platitudes. No one has said: “This is unacceptable. I will own this until it is fixed.”

Instead, I get shuffled like a parcel across desks, each new staffer adding their name to a growing public record of accountability avoidance.

So let’s be crystal clear: until someone at Amazon manually adds my Vietnam number, or assigns me a senior executive who owns this case end-to-end, this fiasco will remain live, public, and documented.

Names and titles included.

Because this isn’t just my problem—it’s a case study in how a supposedly “customer-obsessed” company treats its customers when systems fail.