Hanging up

When was the last time you had to call a customer service number?  Did the prospect of doing so increase your heart rate, make your palms sweat, have you breathe heavily, send a shiver down your spine, make your legs quiver, make you wish that it was over before it started—all at the same time? Sounds like you just finished your first marathon, only a marathon is fun by comparison, and leaves you with a feeling of personal accomplishment.  Calling a customer service number on the other hand is similar to what Harry Potter probably went through before the final battle with his nemesis.  It’s a duel, and you know that you are going to be in for the fight of your life before you even dial the number.  It has the power to significantly disrupt marital harmony based on which partner had the luck of the draw (I’m convinced there’s a high correlation between divorce rates and how many times the couple called customer service numbers) like nothing else, not even diaper changing (what a relief).  All in all, it’s something that usually tops the list of “God, I wish I didn’t have to do that”-- with a dental visit coming in a distant second.

Why is it that something as simple as making a phone call elicits such reactions?  My view is that it is the “Pavlov’s dog” syndrome in action, wherein we automatically react in a particular fashion based on previous experience, where the word “unpleasant” is the diplomatically correct term to use for experiences that usually warrant a description far stronger in nature (but hey, this is a G-rated blog).  The experience usually starts with the IVR recording, mostly a feminine voice with an aural ability that makes us frantically search for the “volume lower” button on the phone.  After which we try and figure out what was actually said.  Why do they need to screech a welcome at us in tones that were used for qualifying for the Opera Oscars, when a soft “Hello” would have sufficed?  I blame it on Michael Porter and the unending quest for competitive advantage—be cheaper or be different.  Really, Michael—you had to write a tome on this and make it mandatory reading material for all MBA-aspirants?  Shame on you.  But anyway, MNCs (usually from the Anglo American world) followed Michael’s advice and started with cheaper (cheaper is easier than different, duh), which meant outsourcing the voice recording to any place that was at least 50% cheaper than the US and where English was acknowledged as a language.  Note the use of the word ‘acknowledged’, not spoken or written. This would usually include most Asian, African and Latin American countries and voila—that’s where the accent comes from (I personally haven’t heard a Latin American accent on an IVR, but I do believe it would be really soothing to hear a sensuous “Welcome” in Salma Hayek-tones).  And what of the volume, you say?  Now that’s Michael’s differentiation strategy in action—when everyone had IVRs recorded in Filipino, Chinese, Indian and Kenyan accents and the procurement guys weren’t able to drive down costs any lower—it was time to do something different.  The easiest differentiation strategy was volume, and the higher the better.  So that’s why you hear the banshee—sorry, IVR—when you dial the customer service number.  I’m pretty convinced that the next differentiation strategy will be comedy—be prepared to hear a joke in an unrecognizable accent at a volume that will make your ear canal tremble, the next time you call customer service.  Just hope the joke is good.

So once you’ve been welcomed by the IVR and “weathered” (i.e. got used to) the volume and the accent, it’s time for the second assault.  That’s what is referred to as “options”, which means going back to Grade 1 and the first time you had to learn something by rote (for this press 1, for that press 2, if you make a mistake press 3 and the scolding voice of your Grade 1 teacher will be played).  The only option I haven’t heard on the IVR is the “get the hell out of this call” option, which most callers would dearly love to do.  The interesting part is that the reason why most callers overcome their greatest fears and make the call (the gun in the wife’s hand helps) is to speak to someone, i.e. a human being, not a computer.  That human being is usually referred to as an “agent” in customer service speak, with IVR Option 9.  I often wonder where the term was invented--probably a newly minted marketer who had seen too many James Bond movies.  It’s also a warning—be warned before you speak to Agent X, anything you say can and will be used against you.   The trick that the smart marketers and tech gurus missed was in making the “would you like to speak to an agent” option fixed rather than dynamic.  Most people press “9” as soon as the IVR starts and therefore don’t have to listen to all the other options.  Imagine what it would have been like if you didn’t know what number this option would be, and therefore would have been forced to listen to the joke, the volume and the accent indefinitely?  Thank heavens for small mercies.

The stoic amongst us would now have reached the final stage—the last Base Camp before Mount Everest.  On the one hand is the prospect of speaking to someone at last and getting your problem resolved (hopefully in an accent you can understand and a volume that will keep your hearing intact); on the other is the distinct feeling that you have just entered Baghdad.  The opening is usually encouraging-- “how may I help you sir”--  and just as you take a deep breath and think that maybe, really for the first time in your life you are lucky enough to get helped the first time round, you hear the all too familiar “please be on hold”.  The memories (nightmares) come hurtling back—the never-ending hold time, the all too familiar IVR recogitating “you are on hold, please wait”, the must-have company jingles exhorting you to buy more of the product that you didn’t really need the first time but bought anyway and are now paying the price for by having to be on hold waiting to speak to someone who is as petrified of speaking to you because she’s going to get shouted at for no fault of hers and your feeling lousy for spoiling her day but she works for the company that caused the problem in the first place so tough luck—and in no time, you realize that the real Baghdad would have been infinitely more welcoming.  By this time, you also usually hear the first “peep peep”—the almost friendly sound from your smartphone telling you that the battery is low (as always) and you better plug in the charger (if you can find it) or you will have to start all over again!  This is the moment when, while all seems lost and the fate of the human race is at stake-- clarity finally emerges, hope is resurrected, when you understand and accept the Golden Rule (do unto others…) with all your soul, when the wisdom of the dictum “it’s all fair…” is truly revealed, and that’s when you say in your friendliest voice possible, “Honey, I couldn’t get through, it’s your turn now”.