August 1999 feature by Evany Thomas |
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Customer Disservice
I'm really big on calling customer service. Whenever there's the slightest
hitch; if Alhambra over-charges me for water ("making friends" indeed!),
"Toner and Copier Supply" spam gluts my inbox, or Pac Bell cuts off my phone
-- I pour myself a coffee or fruity libation, sit in a nice, comfy chair,
and get the hell on the horn. After anywhere from 20 to 90 minutes, I
usually get my way (nothing chills the blood of a customer support agent
like a person who appears to have nothing better to do than complain for as
long as it takes).
At least, that's the way things used to be. In the last few months,
however, there's been a change of heart in the world of customer service.
Where once those head-setters were easily intimidated (when properly
motivated), now they are unflappable. They're like roaches who've learned
to adapt to the latest Motel:
"Let me transfer you to our customer happiness department!"
[music: "The answer, my friend, is blowing in th--"] All of our service
representatives are busy right now, but please stay on the line and--
"Hello, and thank you for calling Pac Bell. How may we provide you with
excellent service today?!"
"Well, you can start by turning my phone back on."
"Ah! Can I have your phone number please?!"
"415-867-5309."
"And your name?!"
"Evany Thomas."
"Well, good morning, Miss Thomas! How can I help you today?!"
"Like I just said, you cut off my phone this morning, and I'm not really
sure why."
"We didn't give you a notice?"
"No."
"No phone call? A letter? Because we usually give notice."
"No."
"Huh! Strange! Well, let's see if we can get to the bottom of this! [FAKEY
KEYBOARD SOUND] Oh, I see now. We never received your last
payment of $129.91."
"Yes you did. You cashed the check I sent you."
"Uh oh!! Let me transfer you to our claims department so we can get that
cleared up right away!"
["...two tickets to Paradise! Pack your bags and we'll leave to--"]
"Hello! Can I have your phone number please?!"
"415-867-5309."
"And your name?!
"Evany Thomas."
"Hello, Miss Thomas! How can I help you today?!"
[STRAINED SIGH] "You cut off my phone this morning, and your billing
department tells me you did so because you never received my last payment,
yet I have a cashed check here that says otherwise."
"No problem! You simply need to fax us a copy of your canceled check --
front and back! -- and we'll get this cleared up right away!"
"OK, but you see, this exact same thing happened last month, and it turned
out you had deposited my check into someone else's account. Are you sure
there's no one I can talk to about this obvious glitch in your system?
[BEGIN "WE'RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER" PLOY] Certainly you guys don't want to
waste all this time faxing around, either."
"No, well, obviously not. But I'm sorry, we do need you to fax in that info!
But if there are any additional services that interest you, I can help set
those up for you! We have a special introductory offer of Call Waiting
Caller ID right now, for instance!"
[LOSING MY MARBLES, MIND, AND SHIT] "Now why would I want to pay for
additional services if you can't even get my basic service working
correctly? Not only that, but why do I have to give my name and number and
blood type to each department I'm transferred to, which, incidentally, has
happened THREE times in this call alone? This is the 90s! You run a
national business! Why can't you just pass my ID info along? What kind of
retardo system do you have running there...?"
"Oka, Ma'am? Call me retardo one more time, and I'll hang up on you."
[IT IS PLAIN THAT THIS PERSON HAS PARTED WAYS WITH THE "CUSTOMER IS ALWAYS
RIGHT" AMERICAN DREAM. I AM IN SERIOUS TROUBLE.]
"I didn't call you retardo, I called Pac Bell retardo. And anyway, surely
you can at least understand my frustration; last month I had to call you
people eight different times before I could get everything straightened
out. And now you're trying to make me do it all over again."
"Well, mistakes happen. Surely you don't claim to have never made a mistake
yourself?"
"Yes. I have made mistakes. But not the same exact mistake two times in a
row."
"..."
[LAUNCHING MY "TIME IS MONEY" ATTACK] "Listen. My time is valuable. The way
I see it, you owe me money for the four-plus hours I've spent
with you people over the last month."
"Ma'am. You aren't the only person whose time is valuable."
[SWITCHING TO MY PATENTED CRIMINAL ACTIVITY ACCUSATION] "Well, be that as
it may, the fact of the matter is somebody has my money. Is there some sort
of slush fund I'm padding? Are you all planning a trip to Vegas on my tab?"
"No, Ma'am."
[LAST-DITCHING IT WITH A CONSPIRACY THEORY -- NOBODY DENIES A PARANOID
SCHIZO] "Have you flagged my file with a note that says "Screw up this
customer's life"?
"No, Ma'am."
[FINALLY, I GIVE IN] "OK. Fine. Give me the fax number I need to send my
canceled check to."
"Certainly! It's 510-451-5105! Now, is there any other way I can provide you
with excellent service today?"
"No, Ma'am."
It isn't just Pac Bell. I get the same exact thing with my credit card
people ("We cut off your card because of some very suspicious
activity." "Oh? Like what?" "Well, there's a $23.49 charge on June 7th,
followed by a charge of $33.25 on June 20th."). Martha Stewart
Living Magazine is now all over my ass. Apparently my mother got me a
subscription for my birthday, yet she (Martha) seems to think that I was
the gift-giver, my mother the giftee, so she keeps sending me bills, which
feature increasingly threatening language (but the bond stock it's written
on is luxurious) and no phone number to call to straighten it all out (as
if that would make a difference).
All of this can not be a coincidence. No, something bigger than me is afoot.
My theories are:
in the junk drawer
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