If It's Eight P.M. Here, It Must Be Nine in Bombay

Are the major corporations of the world in some sort of league with the psychiatrists, in an effort to drive us all completely insane? If so, it’s a brilliant ploy. I just spent an hour trying to straighten out a cell-phone issue. But it’s not just cell phones. It’s everything I do anymore.
Take almost any corporation’s customer service department, as an example. Honestly, have you had a truly satisfying experience anywhere? If so, I’d love to hear about it.
First of all, you have that asinine voice mail system. Talk about stupid! I really hate those automated, computerized voices that try to fool you into believing they’re human.
You know the ones. They ask you to say your account number.
“Three-four-seven-eight-nine-two-three-zero-one,” I say.
Then computer voice says, “Alright, now I’ll repeat that number back to you. Did you say ‘Four-zero-two-seven-nine-zero-six-zero-one?’ Is that correct?”
And, I shriek, “NO!”
“Sorry, my mistake,” the computer says. Now, you tell me, how can a computer feel even a little remorse? It insults me that I have to listen to a computer apologize. Are the programmers so stupid that they think I’m going to be placated by Robbie the Robot?
I make several more attempts to enunciate my account number, all unsuccessful. And, the company’s pseudo-human becomes more and more distraught over it’s inability to understand me. I begin to worry about the stress I’m putting on their answering system.
Sometimes, I find myself forgetting it’s not a real person I’m having a conversation with. When the computer voice apologizes, I’ll say, “Don’t worry about it,” as if some manmade electronic device needed consoling. Amtrak’s “Julie” sounds so real that I almost invited her out for a cup of coffee.
Anyway, you finally discover the secret code that enables you to get past the system and allows you the privilege of being put on hold, waiting to speak with a real human. Another computer voice warns you that your call may be monitored. The companies say it’s for training purposes, but I’m onto that little game. What they’re subtly doing is telling you that no matter how frustrated you get by the horrendous customer service, you better not threaten anyone with bodily harm, because it’s all on tape.
Finally, after being on hold for three to ten minutes, a true human comes online and announces, “Hailue, theeese ees Ranjeet. How may eee hailp you?” I’ve waited ten minutes for a connection to Bombay. Now, don’t get me wrong. Those Indians are lovely people, but I really prefer to speak with someone who speaks and understands English. Call me old fashioned, but that’s my language of choice.
“I have a question about my account,” I begin, knowing that this is only going to get more frustrating, but what can I do?
“May I have your account number please?” Ranjeet asks. Or, at least, that’s what I’m guessing he’s asking. I still don’t understand about 60% of what he’s saying.
“Three-four-seven-eight-nine-two-three-zero-one,” I say.
“Did you say ‘Four-zero-two-seven-nine-zero-six-zero-one?” Ranjeet asks.
I begin to wonder if I’d been speaking with Ranjeet all along. Maybe he was just pretending to be a computer at the onset of my call.
Finally, we get past the account numbers, passwords, addresses, blood types, name of my first girlfriend, and what not, and Ranjeet is ready to get down to business. “So, how may I help you? He asks again, in that little sing-songy voice of his. I hate that kind of voice. He’s just a little too happy, and any happiness I had has evaporated completely.
So, I ask him, “Can you tell me what time I get free telephone calls?”
“Let me check,” he says. “Oooh, you get free calls beginning at nine-o-clock.” He says it in a way that implies that I must be one of the lucky ones.
“Well, I was told my free calls begin at eight-o-clock,” I tell him.
“No, sorry. Nine-o-clock,” he replies.
Now, this is when I really get ticked off. It doesn’t matter whether I’m calling my cell-phone company, the cable company, the electric company, the credit card company, or whomever. It’s all the same.
No matter what you were promised on a previous call, it’s never going to be the same when you call back. And, it never dawns on these idiotic customer service reps that maybe that would be upsetting, or irritating.
They never say, “Oh, let me see what I can do about that.” They just say, “Sorry. You’re wrong.” Evidently, the business philosophy for the twenty-first century is that the customer is always wrong.
“May I speak with a manager?” I demand.
“Have I not helped you?” Ranjeet asks. He seems genuinely hurt that I need to enlist the help of someone else. In fact, while I’m on hold, he comes back on line two or three times and asks if there’s something he can do for me. But no matter what I say in trying to explain that I had been promised an earlier free phone call time, Ranjeet always says, “No, sorry. You get free calls at nine.”
Ranjeet, just like Chandani and Deepak and the rest of them don’t care. I guess if I lived in a country where the company restroom was the curb out in front of my building, I wouldn’t care if some American were getting free calls at eight or nine.
Of course, the ones that really don’t care are the cell phone companies, and the cable companies, and the electric companies, and the credit card companies.
Time was, and not that long ago, these companies put a lot of money into training customer service reps to provide exceptional service. Where have those days gone?
As I said at the outset, if you’ve had a good customer service experience, I’d really love to hear about it. Give me a call sometime. But don’t call until after nine, because that’s when I get free calls.