The 'International' Call Center-Irritating Consumers Since...Forever

You know? I get this topic that is light-hearted, funny and should be very well received (no, not the Zimmerman verdict), and it keeps getting forced farther and farther onto the back burner because these stupid everyday societal situations keep forging a cavernous path to the front. And, believe me, I HATE defending society; that's the whole point of my taking up such valuable real estate each day, or so, on the cyber highway. Today, I had no choice, because today were dealing with...call centers.

Don't get me wrong, call centers serve a purpose. You can take a large group of people, throw them in a room full of 6x6 cubicles for 8 hours a day, add an hour for lunch, and let them field a high volume of calls from people who have no desire (zero, zilch, n-a-d-a), to talk to them. Ever. Now, add to this wonderfully stupendous (isn't this a derivative of 'stupid'?) formula, the fact that said cubicles are housed on the continent of Asia, also known as the Indian Sub-continent, and you've just opened the bay doors to a nuclear missile silo and given every disgruntled consumer in America, the launch codes.

The people in the board rooms of these Mega financial conglomerates have to be rocking back in their $1500 Italian leather executive office chairs, laughing their collective Armani clad buttocks' off, at the ignorance that we perpetuate every day, in an effort at minimal satisfaction. They knew exactly what they were doing when they moved these fiber optic hubs out of the Skokie, Illinois' of the world, and into the suburbs of Ganj Peth. Save a little money; save a lot of time. What's the old adage? Everybody. Time..is..

Where you used to place a call to your friendly neighborhood 800 number, now we use the same number, navigate through a maze of automatic options for our 'convenience', to which we almost always futilely attempt to beat the system by jumping to 'zero', only to be told by the only English-sounding person we'll deal with in the course of this mind numbing journey, somebody else' antiquated version of 'Siri', that this simply is not a viable option. So, it's back to retrieve the menu selections, again, this time in their entirety. When we finally are able to ascertain that option #4 will get us to a customer service "representative", the line rings...and rings, then 15 seconds of Tracy Chapman on Muzak, a couple more rings and...air; we hold our breath, eagerly anticipating the tongue lashing we're about to unleash on this unfortunate individual, when they answer with their canned, Mega conglomerate greeting, and you can't..understand..a..word..they're..saying. Really? This is the face, or voice, of the franchise? Because, I know my first instinct is to throw down the phone and run out into the middle of freeway traffic at 3:30 on a sunny Friday afternoon (okay 2:15). But, regardless, we don't. We stay on the line, fighting to discern anything beyond, 'My name is...', because we're sheep; all headed to the same proverbial slaughter.

This is the genius of today's corporate senior management. They put themselves in a position to make more money, handle less complaints and remain on fairly solid ground; because no matter how much we complain, they understand that we are creatures of habit, we fall in line and do as we're mandated. And for every poor individual who dares venture beyond these strict boundaries, there are three to take his place. Unfortunately, accountability today is at an all time low and again, it's up to us to proactively legislate change. You think I'm exaggerating, or it's not that big a deal? Have I got an 800# for you. 

Until tomorrow,

Scott