Somewhere, there are three sneaky people hiding in a room.
I don’t know where. Maybe in New Brunswick. Or perhaps in Tennessee. One of my friends believes they are in South Asia.
The location isn’t important — but their role in the world is. They are the barriers between you and whatever it is you need.
Maybe it’s booking a cable appointment. Or a flight, using your points. Perhaps your need is to get help with a website order. Or information on filling out a government form.
It could be anything.
But it’s far from anything. It’s a nightmare. Also known in business parlance as the call centre.
This was my night last night. All I wanted to do was book three tickets so my family could go to New York. I have done it before. I’ve done it a thousand times.
But tonight the $*#!@ website wasn’t working properly. Four times I entered my requests — the passenger data, my credit card info. Four times I got the Heisman. Why four?
Well, there was no way I was planning on giving those three sneaks their evening jollies. But finally it happened. I made the call.
Person #1: He pretended to be glad to help. Of course, he enjoyed asking for my membership number, password, my maiden name (shockingly, I don’t have one), my dog’s name, his maiden name, my mother’s maiden name (which she hasn’t used since 1957), my maid of honour’s name, my maid’s name, the name of the New York maid in the IMF scandal and the first made man to die in Season 2 of The Sopranos.
Once we got past that ordeal, I was essentially told that the website lied to me. I couldn’t book those flights online, but he would transfer me to another department that could help me.
Person #2: She seemed… Oh, forget it. She wasn’t nice. She wanted all the same information. Why, I asked, am I not on her screen? No, she answered, she actually is in another department, far removed from the first one. (That’s why I asked about the screen, dumbo.)
My arse. I know damn well she is sitting next to Person #1 sharing a Kit Kat. But what choice do I have? Over her mocking laughter, I repeated the same answers. Yes, my home phone number is 888-8888. Yes, that’s my favourite number. No, it’s not the combination to my shed. No, it’s not my birth date. Yes, it is my shoe size. No, it’s not my belt size.
She told me that although Person #1 said it was their website’s fault, I would still have to pay a $130 service fee to get her to book my flights. Trust me, all I wanted was some flights booked. For my kiddies. For $130 for ten minutes on the phone, my expectations should have been higher.
So she then proceeded to send me to the third act of this vaudeville nightmare, person #3.
I was sent to #3 because I refused to pay the service fee to #2. She somehow thought I should.
I laid down the ‘Let me speak to your manager’ line and was then told ‘No, no — my manager will be at mad me.’ So #3 was supposed to resolve the issue, and I was to be given priority billing. So I was only on hold for 22 minutes. Some priority.
Number three, of course, wanted a repeat of all the key data points I had previously provided. He claimed to be in another town (with no screen or internet); while the maiden name thing went quickly, we did seem to be awfully stuck on my home phone number. Which given the fact that I had called from my home phone, and I was sure it was on call display, I have no idea how he could actually doubt where I was calling from!!!
As #3 looked over at his two co-conspirators with a smile, he told me it was my fault the website didn’t work. You see, they had updated their system and hadn’t told anyone. So now my retained information, including my family’s names, was incorrect. Yes indeed – my fault.
So seventy-three minutes after I dialed, I went back online. Al Gore’s invention worked this time and I was done in a jiffy.
I swore at the three unseen manipulators who had just ruined my night! I gulped down my 1664 with a furious lip smack. I glared at my ‘To Do’ list, which hadn’t budged in over an hour.
Then I swore at the company. Its call centre. Its website. Its corny ads. Its false marketing claims. Its unsubstantiated brand promise.
And if I didn’t want to win their business some day, I would mention them by name. Oh, how I hate bowing to the pressures of being in the marketing services world.
But you know who I am talking about…