ODE TO DONNA AND HER WITCHY FINGERNAILS

Enough With the Data Collection

The value of talking to real humans

It’s becoming ridiculous.

Each time I talk to a customer service agent on the phone or in person, the call is followed by a brief survey, or I get a follow-up email.

I have no idea why organizations need so much damn data about employees’ daily interactions. I would gladly skip the surveys entirely if I weren’t worried they are tied to employees’ wages. I end up biting the hook and rating the quality of the call.

My friend says I should reconsider this strategy.

I never send negative evaluations, regardless. I usually ask to speak to a manager after talking to a series of agents who can’t resolve my issue.

Customer service involving a person has turned into a tedious, time-consuming process. Sometimes it takes twenty minutes or longer to gain access to a human as systems are becoming more robotic.

Automatic systems can be even more frustrating with their endless menus and brief time windows for responding before being cut off.

Come to think of it, these endless annoying surveys are likely the next phase in transitioning consumers to purely automated customer service systems.

Ooof!

I am not ready for that reality. I’ll stick with venting about survey frustrations. Here’s a recent example.

Yesterday I went to a drive-through Covid test site. Two agents were working there. The first agent unenthusiastically requested my identity and insurance information. I had not anticipated being offered a smile and a cup of coffee. I assumed I would be met with the bored indifferent tone I experienced.

I was just grateful that there were two people at the covid testing site working voluntarily — or even better — being decently paid to do this essential process.

The second customer service agent handed me a vial with my name typed on the label and a very long stick ending in a Q-tip. He verified that the label information was correct. Next, he instructed me to circle the Q-tip 10x deep inside each nostril, then place the Q-tip back in the vial.

This second agent was also far from bubbly and warm. Why should he be? Wasn’t it already sufficient that he was risking his health for this job? The second agent had to stand next to an open window, facing my car’s open window, waiting while I swabbed my potentially Covid-ridden nostrils.

Once I completed the procedure and returned the vial, the agent handed me a piece of paper detailing what my next steps should be.

I drove away, wondering how the two guys managed the monotony of the job. Plus, why, as a culture, do we insist that customer service agents guard against revealing honest boredom or crankiness, or indifference?

I could see the usefulness of a Covid testing survey if a psych researcher, for example, was collecting data on how anxious or irritable people became after Covid tests.

***

I can’t remember any job I’ve had where my performance was rated by customers directly after an interaction.

I do wish that one former employer had requested customers to rate my acting ability. I worked briefly for a company in 1989 that manufactured bicycle seats and other bike accessories. The company also designed and sold video player cleaners.

More precisely, they were video players cleaners that — once ejected from a customer’s machine — messed up the functioning of that video player. Usually, the images or sound disappeared.

Here’s where the acting came in. I was hired to pretend that this was an entirely unheard-of issue. I would try to calm down the angry customer while making affirmative humming noises to indicate I was carefully recording details of their complaint. Then I would put the customer on hold while I consulted with technicians.

After keeping the customer on hold — listening to Abba music for a few minutes — I returned with the solution,

I had two typewritten pages taped to my desk of technician recommendations depending on whether the customer issue involved image or sound, or the video player refusing to start after the cleaning. There were seven common problems customers reported with corresponding solutions to match.

I presented the solution hesitantly, often stopping to ask, Does this make sense? The technicians’ magical solutions would usually solve the problem. If the machine was permanently ruined — on infrequent occasions — the customer would call back with a truckload of accusations and insults.

Those calls I passed along to Donna in the claims department. She was a badass and a recent divorcee with fingernails so long they curled under. She had a personalized license plate with the creative spelling — WYLLD THANG— and the demeanor of a dominatrix. Often customers, particularly middle-aged men, abandoned their attempts to get a video player replacement.

Instead, they focused on trying to get a date with Donna, but she had her standards. She only accepted invitations that involved steak and lobster dinners with expensive bottles of red wine.

***

That temp job ended once the technicians finished redesigning an improved video cleaner. If there had been customer service stats kept on Donna, those would have been amazing to read. The Covid test survey arrived as promised, highlighted in pink. I was instructed to rate my experience on a five-star scale. I gave high scores to every part of the testing experience — courteous agents, helpful information, and yes, I would recommend this service to friends and family.

All the questions were especially odd, given the context of Covid, and anyway, these agents were not trained to be therapists or nurses. What else could I have written?

I wish the agent had complimented my nostril circling technique.

It would have been nice to receive a happy face sticker when I completed the process.

I would much prefer to interact with moody humans than online, robotic systems and surveys that make customer service more complicated and time-consuming than ever.

Or maybe I’m just grumpy because my Covid test came back positive.