Posted on 06/02/2004 9:11:39 AM PDT by Bob J
This is an open letter (read open wound) to those business people not engaged in the business of serving me and my fellow consumers - we who are as vital to their continued survival as tax dodges, buyable politicians and oxygen:
Please stop offending me with that fatuous flatulence about how momentous an event it is when I place a call to you.
Although time has dimmed the light of my memory, I clearly recall the kinder, gentler and more considerate days when I picked up the telephone and almost instantly spoke to a fellow humanoid to whom I could reveal my communication needs.
Over time, that "voice with a smile" was replaced by a raucous hearache called a dial tone, the first building block in a barrier-to-be between me and even my simplest wants.
Still, though, I had only to finger and spin the big "0" to reach one of Ma Bell's helpful daughters or dial a few digits to open a window on the world.
After a few ringy-dings, barring a busy signal or no answer at all, the next sound I heard was the voice of either the somebody I had called or a live representative of him, her or it.
Then along came the answering machine, admittedly an improvement over multiple calls to unattended telephones, including those ringing after business hours.
So far, so good; that is, until automation morphed to evasion, with the advent of recorded answers linked to an endless maze of interlocking menus. Some of these meandered aimlessly until reattaching to the original choices, like processionary caterpillars or Ringling Brothers' elephants circling the center ring.
Under this so-called "system," it is possible for callers to progress through perhaps a thousand options without finding one matching their needs, such an agonizing experience invariably preceded by an unctuous (recorded, of course) avowal that those caller needs are of paramount importance to the callee, who is actually avoiding them like an IRS auditor or the carrier of a sexually transmitted disease.
It is to these heinous hypocrites that this opusette is directed.
I want them to be aware that we of the unwashed masses know full well some inside secrets about the dirty game they play, including these irrefutable truths:
1. Despite their pious protestations to the contrary, our calls to them are, de facto, less important than whatever they're doing instead of answering the damphone.
2. Even though the pay scale of the low-level drones who could be responding to our needs may be a mere fraction of ours, they treat our wasted time with utter contempt.
3. They have found that their bottom lines (and maybe their bottoms as well) can be fattened by making defenseless schlemazels like us play multiple choice games in search of a solution to problems that might easily be solved by any employees whose IQ exceeds their waist measurement.
4. "Efficiencies" brought about through mergers and acquisitions usually involve concomitant cutbacks in personnel to offset the cost of such shotgun weddings.
5. Bureaucratic minds and bodies have adopted automated response as the most effective aid to work avoidance since the introduction of the water cooler and coffee break.
Readers who are tolerant of such abuse and perpetrators thereof need read no further. Let the former enjoy their masochistic pleasure and the latter be blissfully unaware that this column - ever the champion of those oppressed - has, as usual, come up with a defense mechanism that is brilliant despite its simplicity.
Victims of the telephonic tyranny outlined herein will recall that assurance of their importance is not the only standard blather in these systems.
After the trap is set, but before it is sprung, you are told that if you do not have touch-tone phone service, you are to remain on the line and await - guess what? Right y'be, m'friend...if you pretend to be stuck with one of those prehistoric whirlybird dialers, you'll bypass the multiple-menu jungle and get to chat with a living, breathing thing much like yourself!
You can ask it questions and get off the horn while those using state-of-the-art equipment are still punching numbers, playing hopscotch with a serial sequence of questionnaires and muttering expletives ill-befitting well-bred people.
No need to shower me with gratitude for the hours I have just spared you or the cardiovascular stress I've helped you to avoid. It is our life mission to serve suffering personkind.
Hey, who loves ya, Baby?
Joe Klock, Sr. is a freelance writer in Key Largo, FL. E-mail joeklock@aol.com
I've been trapped in voicemail hell many times... until I learned a trick that works about 75% of the time... no matter where you are in the voicemail menu - if you hit "0" twice in a row you'll get a real person (sometimes it takes three 0's).
And all of it brought to us for our safety and convenience, too!
Ooh! That's a nice trick to know!
I hate in when they ask you to punch in your account number, and then when a person is on the phone they ask for your account number again.
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