Confessions of a Call Center Gal - By Lisa Lim Page 0,15
Maddy, how can I help?
“Because your FUCKING lines are down, it has cost my business over FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS IN FUCKING DAMAGES!” blasts the caller.
Sheesh, someone has a potty mouth.
“Sir, I apologize for any inconvenience and I’ll be glad to look into this matter for you. But could you kindly refrain from using such foul language with me,” I say all primly and properly.
“FIX MY FUCKIN PROBLEM FIRST AND THEN WE’LL SEE YOUNG LADY!”
“Oh-kay sir,” I say in a constricted voice. “First off, let me ask you a few questions to authenticate you.”
The verification process is excruciatingly painful as he is less than cooperative; it’s literally like getting a root canal without anesthesia.
By some miraculous fluke, I manage to get him authenticated.
“Sir, do you mind if I place you on hold for a few minutes while I do some research?”
“YES! I DO FUCKIN MIND BEING ON HOLD. BUT GO THE FUCK AHEAD! YOU FUCKIN IGNORAMUS NIMROD.”
Welcome to the world of Customer Service.
Now that the A-hole is on hold, I check the intranet site to see if there are any known issues.
I scroll down the list and Bingo!
There is an outage in Arizona, due to severe thunderstorms late last night that damaged some of our OC3 lines.
And that happens to be where this moron is calling from.
Next, I check his account details. Hmm, I notice he’s on our Consumer Package. Uh-oh, this does not bode well for him.
With the Consumer Package, we do not guarantee coverage twenty-four/seven. We only guarantee coverage at all times for Business Packages because business clients are designated special lines that aren’t affected by bad weather.
Well, not quite as much.
And since this caller is calling about a business account, he should technically be on the Business Package.
Exhaling sharply, I brace myself and hop back on the phone with the tyrant. “Thanks for holding sir. I’m so sorry but we have a known issue in Arizona, where the lines are in fact down. Our technicians are working hard to fix it,” I say reassuringly.
He goes ballistic. “I NEED THIS FIXED NOW! WHY AM I PAYING FOR SOMETHING THAT I CAN’T EVEN FUCKIN’ USE?”
“Um, actually sir, you’re on the Consumer Package and you’re paying...” I rifle through my stack of papers and locate the page that lists all the fees. “Let’s see here, Consumer Package—you’re paying $24.95 per month. Now if you run a business, then you’re supposed to be on the Business Package which costs $249.99 per month,” I inform him in a brisk and professional tone.
“WHY THE FUCK WOULD I PAY $250 WHEN I CAN GET IT FOR $25 A MONTH?” he snarls mockingly. “GO ON, TELL ME BITCH! WHY DON’T-CHA FUCKIN ENLIGHTEN ME?”
“Well, sir,” I say ever so sweetly. “If you had been on the Business Package, your DSL service would be up and running right now; and it would have saved you (drum roll please and a pause for effect) FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS.”
Heated pause. I can hear him fuming on the line.
“FUCK YOUUUUUU!” Click
He hung up. Well good riddance! Didn’t his momma ever teach him good manners?
If his tone was marked by gentility rather than hostility, my empathy for him would have been unequivocal. I’m always on the customer’s side, and to be quite frank, his frustrations weren’t without merit. But since his modus operandi was to attack me, I operated thusly in defense mode. ‘Tis the nature of the game.
Before I know it, my phone goes Beep!
Here I go again. “Thanks for calling Lightning Speed...”
Call after call after call comes through and thankfully none of them are as bad as the first one. After taking about fifty calls in a row, it’s 2 p.m. and I’m scheduled for a fifteen minute break. Apparently, there’s some labor law requiring call centers to grant fifteen minute breaks to their workers every two hours.
6:45–7 p.m.: Break (cue choir of Angels singing Glory, Glory, Glory to God)
7–8:30 p.m.: On the phones (pop two Tylenol pills)
In a haste, I log off my phone, pop a Tylenol pill and saunter to Karsynn’s cubicle. Ingeborg skips over to join us, and then the three of us sashay to the Ladies room.
Together.
I don’t know what it is about us girls, but it’s like some sort of strange, unspoken ritual, necessitating us