I spent a little under 300 hundred days speaking to the most demanding and entitled individuals in the country (along with Mexico and Puerto Rico). Though collectively they control maybe 20% of the funds spent on product at any big-name retailer, they blow all of this loot at one lone classless hell pit (that shall remain nameless).
There’s a reason your customers have an entire website dedicated to their appearance and mannerisms. A certain breed of consumers stagger those aisles and, I’ll break it down to a topically applicable level, they’re dumb as shit.
Speaking to these beings on a daily basis and attempting to derive information or definitive thought forces one to the point of clinical insanity and there’s no excuse for driving somebody mad within the confines of a 345 second phone call. Not a one.
At first, the bad calls are a novelty; something to laugh at and roll one’s eyes but inevitably, newbie Customer Care Reps push through. They still want to do well. The desire to fight call center stereotypes tooth and nail with their optimism and can-do spirit has yet to diminish. And the training is actually great, leaving a solid feeling of preparation for what’s to come and a goal oriented state of mind; dedication to achieving metrics and hitting high marks which undoubtedly will pay off at the six month review. It doesn’t all seem nearly as bad as the stories having made their way around the fourth floor water fountain and back would make it seem. I mean, those people were obviously of a weaker work ethic… right?
No explanation or condolences of any particular weight could be “legally” provided by my superiors to ease the stress and mental anguish. The most I ever got was, “Well, this job isn’t for everybody.” With all due respect, that’s a cheap cop-out. Try empathizing because Lord knows one can’t even begin to sympathize until they’ve hit their 4,000th call.
That department is not for everybody.
More so it’s not for almost anybody once the aforementioned number is achieved. At that point, it’s time for the powers that be to present a chance for betterment; meaning migration. Trust me when I say nobody’s getting paid enough to deal with the psychological disintegration endured after four months of full-time call taking on behalf of the retailer in question. I’m batting at 100 in terms of individuals I’ve spoken to who’ve managed escape from Blank-Mart’s brutal clutches and only speak highly of the light at the end of the tunnel. Results may vary but include some or all of the following:
- Hordes of bright, colorful butterflies at the beginning of every shift
- leprechauns with pots of gold
- Less muting of one’s phone in order to verbalize a tapestry of creative obscenities and adjectives that undoubtedly risk appearing on fellow co-workers’ calls, but are however essential to one’s mental stability
- A general decrease in frenzied and anxious mentalities during lunch breaks, directly after shifts, during days off and/ or during nocturnal states (I believe these instances are categorized as nightmares)
- Back massages by internationally certified masseuses
- Ryan Phillippe in your home preparing medium rare steak dinners nightly.
Although it may seem like a most solid business decision when one factors in call volume and service levels, trapping experienced and talented representatives in a department which permanently impairs brain function, in turn, slowly kills their ambition. A business could and inevitably will lose these star players relying on such practices.
Personally I could deal with the unrealistically demanding. I always found the humor to help me through an alcoholic's loss of inside voice as he carries on about his need for an overnight reimbursement because his children have nothing to sleep on after a seam ruptured in their off brand air mattress and he’s not man enough to sober up, get a job, and buy his kids a real bed. Sir, your substance fueled irresponsibility affecting your children’s welfare will never result in my sympathies played, at least for your personal benefit. DFS will catch up to you soon enough and then you won’t have to worry about the absence of that $39.97 plus tax. It will spend the same at any liquor store on any given day of the week. Even after your incarceration.
(Mini-rant) How hard is it to read a damn receipt? You really can’t detect a date of purchase? One of several fundamental purposes of that paper since the dawn of time has been to answer the age old question of “when”. In addition, if you’re directed to look at the top of your receipt next to the big, fat Blank-Mart sign for a list of numbers separated by letters, don’t turn the request into a scavenger hunt for commonsense and then decide the ST at the bottom or in the middle must be it. If you’re an adult confusing top with bottom or, my personal favorite, left with right, then this five minute phone call isn’t the biggest red flag of your day. Not even of the hour.
Perhaps my all-time favorite call was one I diluted myself into thinking would be my last. To all my practically DOA DTV training class colleagues, ya’ll feel me. I’d heard of customers literally taking the time to read their pamphlet’s terms and conditions word for word in ill-fated approaches to benefit themselves but this chick, she was totes my favie:
Dina Dumbass (I’ve changed her name to protect her identity and ‘Dina’ just flows well with ‘dumbass’) had a 5-year-old son who broke the $130 tablet she stupidly bought him for Christmas (my choice of adjective, not Dina’s). Her first grievance was that she wasn't being reimbursed what she paid for her protection plan. It made absolutely no sense that her money was the missing link to the plan’s carry through and as the CONSUMER, once currency has been exchanged for a service, that money typically doesn’t reappear once said service has come to pass. Nobody consumes for free. Unless you’re dumpster diving. Well, I think there’s a tradeoff of dignity, but whatever.
That was Dina’s first problem. Her second catastrophe was that she bought her kid’s tablet for a discounted price on Black Friday and the reimbursement for what she paid was not going to cover a new tablet, as it had gone off its ONE TIME ONLY SALE PRICE. She wanted off the phone with a promise of the product’s retail value (although she hadn’t spent near that amount) and the protection plan, should her barely out diapers child bust the screen of his next $130 electronic device.
Color me crazy but when I was 5, the highest grade of technological anything my mother trusted me with was a Tamagotchi. This was an off brand Giga Pet. Mine was the crab from ‘The Little Mermaid’ and that device still works with perfect graphical and operational clarity to this day. I say this as proof that not all things kept in my hot little hands die, but also to drive a point home, relative to my rant: If 5-year-olds couldn’t be trusted with expensive crap in the mid-nineties, what has prompted parents of today to believe times have changed? Kids are clumsy. They break things. Granted we’ve come a long way with shiny rechargeable whatnots but these expensive advancements should instantly trigger discretion. If you know your kid has trouble keeping their ice cream cone off the carpeted floor of your Escape then maybe buying the spendy toy with the 7” GLASS screen is a bad fucking option.
And on that note, an OtterBox or any other type of case won't turn handheld piece of machinery indestructible. $40 doesn’t buy you a force field.
Roughly eight minutes in, Dina decides she’s going to read me the small print on her protection plan pamphlet, thinking she’ll do a bang-up job of corroborating her insanity. Every time she comes across a state specific stipulation, she kindly goes through the trouble of remarking, “I don’t even live there”. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Now, her demographics appear in front of me. I’m fully aware which state she resides. Telling me multiple times that you don’t live in Georgia and articulating the sentiment in such a way that you come across disgusted at the idea that Blank-Mart has not removed this state from the pamphlet you store presented you specifically may bolster your own self-esteem, but it’s insufferable.
Personal question Dina: Are you divorced or perhaps on the verge of divorce?
Did you want in on my sure thing odds in Vegas?
Sorry. Too far. Alas, Dina battles on and as she repeats the same invalid points, I too persist, countering with my seemingly obvious ones. I even boldly go so far as to tell her it's not financially feasible for any business to give away thousands of dollars more than what their products sell for. That’s just stupid (the last part was implied).
We reach the fifteen minute mark and Dina caves. She starts to cry, telling me that it’s not fair for parents to buy their children toys and for their children to get attached and then break them and that the parents who could barely afford to buy said toys to begin with have to pay more money to replace them and it’s not her fault or her son’s and I’m punishing her and her kid. Then she plays the “You Obviously Don’t Have Children” card.
I’m twenty-one years old and although I don’t have a brood of my own gene pool to corral, I’ve encountered kids. I know how they act and I come fully equipped with commonsense.
Life lessons all around Dina. You should get a pen.
I was trained for moments like this; to turn around and relate to my customer in some sincere, believable tone, utilizing words which showed “empathy”. In theory, this is a noble idea. However, at a certain point, nobody has the emotional energy to feign concern. So I went with Plan B and attempted to tell Dina a true story about the time my then 7-year-old nephew decided to see what would happen to my cell phone if he put it in the sink. I even had a cute little punch line to put a stop to Dina’s tears (he told me two years later the phone took a swim in the toilet, not the sink). Alas, Ms. Dumbass wasn't game for hearing some anecdote loosely relating to her situation. If I wasn’t going to spit back kissass compassion and a big fat reimbursement, then my words were no good here.
Now, let’s slide back a moment to the part where I’m supposedly placing blame and being unfair. In life, one makes their own choices. One makes their own luck. One fucks themselves’ over. I just happen to be another precipitating factor that may nor may not keep something like this from going your way. But what’s really forward thinking is when a grown adult is denied something and then decides they’re being punished. Like I’m being vindictive because I can be; as if I’m not following the procedures and rules set forth for me by my place of employment. I will admit there were moments I took sick pleasure in denying a claim or a request. I’m only human. I have needs damn it! However, to be clear, I never purposely refused to process a claim to get my rocks off.
Now in between fits of self-aggrandizing tears and screaming, Dina is taking breaks to parent her son using a very rational and controlled voice. This bitch is Bi-Polar. I’ve hit the motherload of emotionally unstable matriarchs (pun intended) and if I could place a third bet I’d win big. This kid isn't emerging from his childhood unscathed. Not even close.
To make a needlessly long story short, Dina Dumbass FINALLY "escalated" after a half an hour of being painfully right.
I could go on and on about how crazy that job, no that department drove me. But what’s done is done and I’m finally free. I just find it only right to call attention to America’s greatest strength and weakness: Blank-Mart. Somebody had to do it and now that I’m close to three months in recovery, I figure I’m ripe for the task. If I could, I would save every last one of you struggling. I have felt your pain.
Granted if I hadn’t had somebody to sexually harass and assault me back, I don’t think I would’ve made it as long as I did. If those encounters had any worth, it was a guarantee of job security. Why miss work when your stalkee is just a couple cubicles down, constantly staring at you and panting with excitement. You can even hear it on the calls. I swear, always in heat that one.
As a closing thought to an already endless spiel of absolutely nothing anybody cares about, here are some things I’ve learned in terms of ‘Murica:
-Pennsylvanians and Ohioans are rude and entitled all across the board.
-People from Alabama have never been appropriately shown how to speak English. It’s not something they teach in schools.
-People from Wisconsin totally sound like they’re from there; it’s a given and it’s great.
-The entire state of Massachusetts has decided if you ask them to repeat themselves once, you’re automatically beneath them, even if you can afford a cell phone that costs more than $59.88. That doesn’t matter to them. You couldn’t understand their accent. You are now road kill.
-Nebraska is the most clear and coherent state in terms of pronunciation and vernacular. They will forever be known as my “Unicorn State” as these calls are few and far in between.
-Most of the under 25 set believe it’s their duty to speak in a disinterested manner. It’s as if they live by some code that they’re doing a disservice to their generation if they articulate thought or speak with solid volume into their receivers.
Lastly, sweet old ladies are really sweet and you should feel like an asshole for getting upset with them when you have to ask them for the 40th time to read their Vizio television’s serial number. You will burn in hell. See ya there.
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