Retiring public servants could be drafted in to give telephone callers the answers they've been searching for, writes ORNA MULCAHY
HERE’S AN extra revenue stream the Government might consider: taxing companies that use automatic telephone answering services rather than flesh and blood operators who might actually be able to answer queries rather than shunt callers into muzak hell, there to await a “customer services representative” who might be free in, say, 25 minutes’ time.
How annoying is it to ring an organisation that is really not that large only to be told to press 1 for this department, press 2 for that, press 5 if you’ve found Shergar and so on?
Furthermore, how frustrating is it, when you have snatched a moment at lunchtime to make some tedious but necessary call to officialdom (in fact the Government’s own switches are among the worst) to be told triumphantly that the offices are closed between 12.15 and 2pm, and then again after 5pm on Fridays? Are these people living in the real world?
All you want is a single piece of information. Before you have a chance to inquire, however, you are asked all these questions yourself – a bit like having a conversation with a Kerryman.
A straight answer is the Holy Grail. Along the way you get a series of press-button options.
Then, finally, when you have given the answers, entered various digits and put on your glasses to locate the hash key, you are forwarded to the land of Greensleeves to wait your turn.
An intermittent message might tell you that your custom is valued, that they will be back to you shortly, that you will be dealt with in rotation and that, by the way, the call is being monitored just in case you were thinking of cursing, or farting loudly to pass the time.
Anxiety levels rise when you are told to have your customer details, ie a long reference number, ready to recite if you do manage to get through. All the while you worry that this is just a scam to keep you on the line and charge you for the pleasure of waiting.
NTL should be given an especially heavy fine for the agony it inflicts daily on callers trying to get through to someone, anyone who can sort out a problem, with its less than satisfactory service.
Calling recently to query a big connection bill – when in fact after weeks of having men in vans out to the house, we were told connection would not be possible – I spent what felt like hours of my employer’s time hanging on the line, trying to talk to someone who could unravel the mystery, while in between times being reminded how much they valued me. Aaaaagh!
Eircom, those great communicators, have an equally annoying system, while Bank of Ireland customers are warned that the calls are being recorded for identification and verification purposes.
Then the voice goes on to try and sell you some life insurance.
Then, when you do get through to a customer care operative, it seems that even then you can’t speak until they have given you their full name and rank and how-may-I- help-you-today routine.
Often, when you explain your pathetic needs, they pass you on immediately to someone else’s voice mail.
Or perhaps no one can help you. At Irish Life, for instance, the first thing the recorded voice tells you is that due to the Data Protection Act they can only discuss plan information with the plan holder. There goes any chance of trying to sort out a problem for your elderly relative, so.
At Iarnród Éireann, the speaking timetable – a soft, reasonable man’s voice this time – allows you to give your destination and date of travel before it replies with the information. “You may say ‘help’ at any point,” says the voice, but that doesn’t get you connected to a real person.
Instead the voice just starts from the top all over again. God help you if you are a Chinese person trying to pronounce Ballybrophy.
One can see the rationale of course – the endless drive for efficiency and cost-cutting. Service costs money.
Real people are expensive and unpredictable, and more trouble than they are worth.
But how nice it is to be greeted by a sane, well-informed person, particularly in the stressful times that are in it.
Let’s bring back women and men with interesting voices and a nice way with people. In my very first job, working in a solicitor’s firm, I was fascinated by the receptionist, who played the switch like a piano and who managed to turn the name of the firm – three ordinary Irish surnames – into a lovely trilling sound that started low and ended with a high dashing note, the final surname sounding positively French. It was delightful. Plus she knew everyone in the business and could probably have carried out a mean consultation herself.
Why not offer part-time switch jobs to people who could do with the work? Or, as one older reader suggests, bring back the blind operators. They were great.
Or why not do a deal with those civil servants seeking early retirement – yes, you can go, but you have to come back and do so many hours on the switch per week, gratis, to cover for those long lunch breaks.