Customer Service Anxiety

As I grow older I’ve noticed that my crabby index is climbing. Grouchiness is beginning to manifest regularly especially in big box stores, fast food restaurants, and whenever I have to make a phone call to a customer service center. I’ve embraced an old fashioned idea that I should receive adequate customer service in return for investing dollars into these enterprises. When I have a question, I would like an answer. When a product is defective, I would like a replacement. When there is a problem, I want to be treated fairly and respectfully. It’s a big order in America today.

Most of the time, the customer service issues are small. In the meat department I discover that instead of being marked down, the meat with the “Today’s Special” and “Reduced for Quick Sale” tags are actually marked up. I spy an employee working in the frozen section nearby. “Excuse me,” I cheerfully interrupt her task, “This meat is supposed to be marked DOWN, but it’s marked UP instead.” She stares at me as if I’m speaking another language. “You see,” I continue to explain, “When the meat hasn’t sold by the ‘sell by’ date, they mark it down – only these packages were marked up instead.”

She stares. I’m not sure if she speaks English – or if I do. “I don’t know how to do that. You’ll have to find someone who marks the meat to help you.” They usually work around here.” Inside I’m starting to get a bit irritated. I try to think of ways to woo her and convince her to help me. “Maybe you could get someone to help me?”

She stares as if she’s pondering the connotations of “maybe.” She sighs. She examines the label. A tiny voice whispers “seek understanding,” and “think more highly of others” while a louder voice screams, “This is ridiculous!” I snap.

“Listen, I don’t work here. I know I could go look for someone, but YOU do work here and you can go in the back and use the intercom and you have access to all sorts of secret passages that I am banned from. So, I’m begging you, would you PLEASE find someone who can help me?”

She sighs, and sulks away without acknowledging whether she is going to accommodate me. I stare at the meat counter and expect to see a diminutive grey haired grandma staring back. I’m not that far from hollering “Where’s the beef?”

Even more frustrating is the customer service phone call. Sometimes this can’t be avoided. When we switched to a new television, internet, and long distance provider we found that our internet browser was downloading pages and videos at amazing speeds, we could make as many long distance calls as our hearts desired, and we could record four shows at once!

I guess we were so busy enjoying the faster internet and recording and watching television shows that we didn’t notice how strangely quiet our phones were. Calls received were probably cut in half. I started to get a clue when I got messages like these rang through on my cell phone.

“Beth, this is Mom. I tried to call you on your home phone but it wasn’t working. Call me back.”

“Hi Beth. It’s Noah. I was supposed to have a phone meeting with you today at 9:00, but your phone isn’t working. Call me, okay?”

“Hey Beth. It’s Greg. Do I have your correct home number? I was just returning your call about next season’s ski trips. Call me.”

“Hi Beth. It’s Samantha. Can you still watch Landon tomorrow? I’ll be there at 6:30. Hope you get this message.”

Of course, I habitually turn off my cell phone when I’m at home so I waited forever for Noah’s phone call meeting, waited for Greg to return my call, and woke up in a start at Sugar’s 6:30 a.m. barking as Landon and Samantha waited on the porch.

I could hardly stand the thought of calling customer service, plus I was enjoying the peace and quiet. I put off the call for a long time. Finally, Mom convinced me to deal with it. By now I had collected information – approximately a half-dozen names and numbers that couldn’t reach my home along with a transcription of recording that the callers heard when they tried to reach me.

Armed with the evidence, I prepared for the phone call. I had snacks, a drink, some paperwork, something to read, and most importantly, a cordless phone AND a speaker phone. I dialed on the speaker phone while sitting at the computer with some busy work. I managed to press the right combination to get through the first layer of voicemail and for a second I believed that I was preparing to talk to a customer service representative.

“Okay, you said customer service. Would you please state your problem in a few words?”

“People can’t call me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand you. Can you state your problem in a few words? For example, you might say, ‘technical issue.”

“Some people get an error message when they call me. It works fine for other people.”

“Did you say, ‘error message?’ Is this error message on your television?

“No.”

“Can you state your problem in a few words? For example you might say ‘service call.”

“Service call.”

“Please say or enter your eight digit service call routing number. If you do not have a service call reference number please press five for our troubleshooting menu.” (I press 5) “Can you state your problem in a few words? For example, you might say “account balance.”

I decide that the only way to handle this is to get a live person on the line. My new strategy is to be completely unintelligible.

“Grilled Cheese?” I venture.

“Did you say ‘fees?”

“No! Scooby Doo?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand you. Can you repeat your problem?”

I’ve found the escape phrase. “Scooby Doo! Scooby Doo!” My voice is breaking with glee.

“I’m sorry. I’ll have to transfer you to customer service. Just hold on a second.”

Finally, I’m going to get a real person on the line. By now, I’ve finished all of my busy work at the speaker phone so I transfer to the cordless and finish the call in the kitchen. A very foreign nice lady answers and introduces herself. She takes my phone number in the event that we are disconnected. I’m encouraged and hopeful.

I explain my problem. She asks me to turn the router on and off. I comply. She runs a test on the line. I wait patiently. She tells me that she’s going to reset something and that should fix it. I’m on the verge of a breakthrough. I can feel it in the air. The line goes quiet. The battery has died on my cordless phone. I rush to another extension, but it’s too late. However, I’m hopeful that the reset has worked. A day or two goes by and I start hearing the familiar story and I’m still not getting many phone calls.

I’ve just invested an hour and a half on the phone and it takes me a couple of days to work up the courage to make another call. This time it’s “Scooby Doo” from the get go. I get a customer service representative. I explain my problem, my recent call that didn’t work, and my problem is “escalated” to the next level.

The next level is somewhere in India. A very nice gentleman takes all of my information again and resets something else. I’m not risking the cordless at this point – I can tell that he thinks the phone call is over and I want more.

“What if this doesn’t work?” I ask. “The first gal I spoke to thought she had fixed it too.”

“Will you please monitor the situation for the next seven days and keep a log of when the problem occurs?”

“Umm, I’m not quite sure how to do that.” I need to get past him to the next level or I can’t be sure my phone is fixed.

“You just write down the calls that you get and the ones that you don’t get.”

“How am I supposed to write down the calls I don’t get?”

“I see.” Silence. I’ve driven the poor fellow off his script. “Would you please monitor the situation for THREE days and keep a log of when the problem occurs?”

“How will I know if someone is trying to call me when they get a recording and my phone doesn’t ring?”

“Can you monitor it for ONE day?”

I get an idea. I dial my mom on my cell. “Hurry Mom, call my home phone number. I’m on the phone with someone who thinks it’s fixed and I want to be sure.”

“Would you hang on a second? I’m calling my mom and she’ll try to call me. Then I’ll know if it works.

“Okay, I’m holding.”

Mom tries to call and gets the usual recording. I relay the news to customer service central.

“Okay, well, I will have to escalate you to the next level. Will you hold while I prepare the transfer?”

I’ve invested another hour. I’m not letting go now.

“Ma’am. I’m going to have to get another department to call you.”

“What if they don’t call?

“I can give you a reference number to use to connect with them when you call back.”

“I’m not calling back. Your voicemail system might push me over the edge.”

“Let me give you their direct number. If you don’t hear from them within a couple of hours you can call it and use this reference number.”

I concede. I’m exhausted and we’ve fought to a draw. I can’t make any further progress. I’m grateful he isn’t trying to sell me phone insurance or some other service.

“Is there any other way I can provide you with excellent service today?”

I bite my tongue and choke out a “No thank you.”

Within an hour a technician calls me back. He doesn’t sound foreign. He writes down all of the phone numbers that I know that can’t reach my home. He sounds sincere. Another hour passes. He calls back with a report. It’s fixed! I make him hold while I call my mom and she verifies that it is indeed fixed.

Is it any wonder I shy away from calling customer service?

Last summer we spent a lot of time remodeling the backyard. We installed a beautiful patio, a lovely pond, and some large, unsightly pigeon dwellings – hidden behind lush foliage. While sweating in 100°+ temperatures and struggling to complete these tasks I was driven by the image of us hosting fabulous backyard gatherings that included delicious BBQ’d burgers, dogs, steaks, kielbasa, chicken, etc…

When we first got married we had a shiny new Weber. Twenty-three years, four kids, an apartment, two duplexes, and a starter house later our backyard sported two disabled Webers. Both were missing their legs, neither had a lid that fit well, and they were perched precariously on a bed of rocks in a raised planters between two shrubs. I hunched over them every summer too cheap to buy a replacement when I had two that sort of worked.

On my last birthday I threw myself a burger party. I looked up fancy hamburger recipes, went all out on toppings and mixin’s, and fired up the Webers. They were way past their last legs – I guess you could say they were on their last stumps. The tiny leg receptacles gave out and they disintegrated right before my eyes. I knew then that I would need to buy another BBQ.

Off to Walmart I go, and despite the lure of several fancy, shiny, stainless steel, propane units I settle on a very basic charcoal model with a low price tag. I love assembling – so I head straight home excited to have a project. Most of the assembly goes well, until I get to the final step. I can’t get the rack to fit in the lid. I push, pry, and consult the diagram numerous times. Finally, I take a break and look at it again. Aha! The lid has its holes drilled in the wrong locations. It’s backwards.

I flip through the manual looking for a phone number. The front cover warns – DO NOT RETURN THIS PRODUCT TO THE STORE WHERE IT WAS PURCHASED. CALL OUR CUSTOMER SERVICE CENTER. I jot down some notes, rehearse my story, and dial. The message says the offices are already closed. Bummer. I consider my options. It’s Friday. I wanted to BBQ. The defective product is 90% assembled. Plus, I don’t actually believe in CUSTOMER SERVICE CENTERS.

I drill some holes in the lid, make it work, and decide I can live with it. The lid happens to open backwards but I can actually stand upright when I cook. I have to walk around to the front of the unit to raise or lower the coals. The finish is a bit rough where I drilled the extra holes, but I don’t have to navigate a voicemail system. It’s perfect!