Jeff Ward: Yes! I Know Where My Red Tent Is!
Why is calling customer service such a pain?
Despite my previous prosaic efforts, it’s getting worse. Much worse! In fact, it’s gotten so bad that I’ve come to fear this proposition even more than a Palin-Bachmann presidency.
We’ll start with my call to the “What’s in your wallet?” people. Of course, if they really wanted an answer to that question, considering the proximity of my billfold, the response would be, “a real pain in the butt.”
This particular problem started in October when Capital One, claiming a third party security breach, cancelled our credit card and sent us a new one.
Though I certainly admire their proactive proclivities, having to edit all that online and recurring payment data was a real—well—pain in the butt. But we dutifully did it and thought all was well until one of those recurring payments went through on the old number.
Of course, when you call C1, they want you to either say or enter your credit card number, and if you’re foolish enough to fall for their “voice recognition” process, the “conversation” quickly descends into a one-side, four-letter-word tirade.
Because when you say “I want to talk to a representative,” that cloying automated voice will typically respond, “Did you say, ‘You want to know where your red tent is?” With my blood pressure already through the roof, I start screaming and pressing #0 so fast the phone started smoking.
What I didn’t realize is, despite our aluminum card status, if you don’t enter the 16-digit card number, they put you in the peasant queue that terminates in Asia. Don’t get me wrong, everyone on the planet deserves a job, but let’s just say my warped sense of humor doesn’t translate very well on that vast subcontinent.
After insisting upon listening to the whole [expletive] story, the first employee sent me to an account specialist. After the account specialist listened to the whole [expletive] story, he insisted this was a disputed charge and not a C1 error.
Then it was back to the states, where supervisor Nathan agreed with my “it’s C1’s fault” contention, but could do nothing about it. He swore he’d call me back in two hours.
Three days later I called them back, entered the number, and got Keisha, one of the best customer service reps I’ve ever encountered. But despite my threats to cancel the card and take them to small claims court, her boss wouldn’t budge.
Apparently there’s one person who makes all the decisions at C1, because they’re all really bad.
Keisha told me C1’s policy was to let recurring charges go through regardless of a card change. I’m sure the hackers would never be able to exploit that loophole.
But get this. After I told them to cancel the card, they said they’d upgrade it to magnesium, waive any future annual fee, make the airline miles exchange rate more beneficial to us, and give us more miles per dollar.
So instead of simply refunding my 70 bucks and getting rid of, well—a real pain in the butt—two employee worked on this for over two hours and finally gave me far more than I asked for in the first place.
Don't ya just love corporate America?
Two days later it was Comcast. That audible collective Patchland gasp can only mean you know exactly how terrifying that prospect really is. I’d rather be appointed as Lindsay Lohan’s probation officer than have to deal with the cable company.
Given the absurd cost and dearth of decent programming, we’ve cut back to the basic broadcast channels. Not only that, but for a mere $8 a month, Hulu provides an astounding array of programs with no ridiculous equipment charges.
So when Hulu added HBO programming (Real Time is the only panel show with liberals and conservatives), I called Comcast for details.
But first, you have to endure a litany of advertisements before they warn you not to press any buttons, because their menu has recently changed. Then they have the nerve to tell you you’d be far better off if you went to the Web.
To make a long story short, when I finally got a person and complained about their utter waste of my time, they gave me three free months of HBO, which means I can watch Real Time in High Def through Hulu with no obnoxious surcharge.
Then it was onto Dominick’s, the grocery store chain that Safeway is running directly into the ground. And this simplest question of all—“Are you open on Easter?”—took 10 minutes of my time.
When I called the local store, I tried pressing zero, but they’ve caught on to that one. Now it just puts you back to the beginning. Then I tried 2 for the bakery, but no one picked up. Then I listened to the whole blanking message and pressed 8 for customer service, only to have it ring endlessly.
Undaunted, I called back again, pressed 8 again, and after 10 rings someone finally picked up and answered my question. And if your Dominick's is anything like mine, they’re never terribly busy.
To unabashedly rip off a Real Time bit, please allow me to offer these new customer service rules!
1. If a person does not pick up the phone, then my call is not “really important to you.”
2. If I could avoid dealing with your surly and disinterested support staff by going to the Internet, believe me, I certainly would. There’s really no need to remind me of what I’m up against.
3. My time is every bit as valuable as yours. Just because I’m a captive audience, that doesn’t mean you can bombard me with endless advertisements.
4. Don’t assume you can placate me by providing my balance and all manner of useless data. Please see No. 2.
5. In the words of Todd Rundgren, “I don’t wanna work.” I’ll gladly read my account number to a speech recognition program that works—or a real person. But since you’ve never once sent me a paycheck, I’m not going to enter the text of Moby Dick through my telephone keypad just to make your life easier.
My favorite part is when they ask for your account number, even though you just entered it.
6. I refuse to repeat my story more than once. Isn’t the entire point of an automated system to get me to the right person right away?
I’ve said it before! When did customer service become an oxymoron? You want our business so badly that you’re willing to spend millions of dollars on marketing, but when you finally have a chance to build a real relationship, you can’t be bothered.
As that Guiness Stout commercial used to go, “Brilliant!”