Friday, October 28, 2005

Here we are, Friday, the semicolon to a grinding week and even more proof, I’m reluctant to admit, of our inability to have five conversations in a row. The very keyboard I’m unceremoniously jabbing right now forbids me to produce more than a preapproved number of words each week. Should I muster a single extra consonant, that’s it. There is no quarrel, no system of appeals. The monitor shuts off and the scene fades to black.

What are your thoughts on customer service? Since you can’t really share yours, I’ll simply tell you mine. In trying to help grow the e-commerce division of the company, I’ve had to place two fingers uncomfortably close to the pulse of customer needs. What this means is I get some clinically retarded phone calls.

Those of you who are committed to customer service full-time have my unwavering respect. Empathy, too. If the dozens of people I’ve “serviced” in the past three weeks are representative of what’s average, then sweet Simon of Cyrene. There are stupid questions–they exist, I assure you–and they often find passage through big people lips.

I got a call from a woman today. Thick southern twang. Sounded like she didn’t have no use for book-learnin’, seeing how the Devil dun drenched them thar letters in black ink and iniquity. I picked up the phone, gave my brief introduction, and waited. Silence.

“Are you a recordin’?” she asks in all seriousness.

A pause.

“No, ma’am. I’m a real person,” I reply, rubbing my temples and replacing my batteries.

Another pause as she processes this.

“Alright.”

Unfair as it may seem, she was my personal ambassador from Dunwoody, Georgia. There was a kind of negative bias forged that moment, and if someone were to ask me for a tour of Dunwoody, I’d tell her to shut her eyes and slam her head violently on the kitchen counter. There. Tour’s done.

Obviously the compulsion to judge is strong and convenient, so it’s probably more civil to ignore this particular cut of society. Sounds snotty, right? If that’s what being a snob means, well, buy me a bulk pack of monocles and lose the gift receipt.