I love taking calls from customers, I really
do.
You might think that the whole hello-my-name-is-Frank-how-may-I-help-you
routine is corny but believe me; customer service is the best job in the world.
When they get round to calling us the
customers are like wounded animals. They’re confused and scared about troubles usually
of their own making. They’ve foolishly ignored the maker’s instructions and our
clear, simple product operating guide; they’re in such a terrible state that we
have to be at the top of our game from the get-go. In most cases they’re so hyper
they won’t listen to the advice which is the only thing to fix their problem. Customers
are inarticulate at the best of times and beside themselves with fear by the
time they call us and what they usually want is to talk for hours about how
upset they are about the problems in their lives and how furious they are with
the company for not solving them and how it’s all our fault.
This latter accusation is particularly
unfair because the company still maintains an extensive (and expensive) network
of branches in most towns and villages even in this online, on-demand brave new
world. These are fully staffed so customers can, at almost any time (even
weekends and holidays), speak to someone in person about the product and so benefit
from our very high delivery standards. This is on top of the reams of publicity
material that the company’s agents and resellers make freely available
year-long; plus regular hands-on promotional events and the famous seasonal campaigns.
But many ignore all that and go straight to Head Office expecting a quick fix -
which by that time simple logic should have told them is unlikely without some
effort on their own part.
Their aggravation
obsesses them and our chief task is getting them to accept by gentle persuasion
if possible or by getting tough and laying it on them good and hard if not,
that the product isn’t working because they’re not using it properly by following
the instructions or because they expect it to do something other than its advertised
purpose. They expect it to make them rich and successful and happy all at once and
without any effort on their part; least of all by paying the bill. They forget;
it’s a great product but there’s a price and non-payment is the chief cause of
the service suspension. When that happens all our publicity prominently
proclaims that they simply need to get in touch, pay up, and service will
resume per contract. Getting them to shut up and listen is our most valued
skill.
I blame the Internet for our recent
troubles. Company philosophy was always about excellent personal service. From
the chairman down it’s always been about relationships because people buy from
people, right? He doesn’t get into the field as often as he used to; instead overseeing
general operations and staying in close contact with our earliest customers. He
doesn’t need to try to be everywhere at once; delegation’s the thing. The
junior partner and his son to do the up-close and personal stuff; pressing the
flesh, talking the talk and so on. It’s not that the chairman spends all his
time on the golf course these days, though he’s there too; it’s just that he’s established
Direct Line to handle the numbers. And we’re needed as never before because
frankly (hah!), the Internet is killing us. It’s the ideal marketplace for the
competition’s shoddy, inferior, but superficially attractive products. It can
make cheap trash seem as enticing as (or even better than) our own rather dull-seeming,
conventional product range. We’ve been blindsided by competitors’ new products a
couple of times before (it’ll be ages till we make up the losses suffered after
the Apple debacle) and the Internet is a fast, vast battlefield in which
operators devoid of business - or indeed any - ethics can fool the marks into
signing crooked contracts on easy terms that turn out to be nightmarishly
expensive in the long run and in return for glitzy rubbish. It sickens me, what
some people have got themselves into when they could have come to us and be
free and clear and fully satisfied. But we at Direct Line will set it right if
we can.
We come from a wide variety of backgrounds, countries
and qualifications: from the old-timers of the company’s pioneering days in
agricultural services and catering; through our educational and hospitality
enterprises to the third millennium hosting and networking business that’s put
our product at the fingertips of an estimated two and a half billion people
worldwide. The exact figure is a company trade secret.
Answering calls, though, you have to be a
karma chameleon; adapting yourself to fit the anguished voice on the line. I’m known
as Frank to the African farmer whose
crop washed away and where’s his compensation?; Francesco to an Italian businessman who doesn’t want to pay fire
insurance to the source of fire; and to the poor New York priest who’s had to
comfort one widow or one grieving mother too many between whiskeys I’m always plain
Francis. I do all I can to set them
straight though we never give cash refunds. I don’t have a penny myself, having
given all of mine away back in thirteenth century Assisi .
4 comments:
See you never really know who it is on the end of that direct line!
Nice story.
Well, write about what you know, and I know call centres. Got to wonder what his work station looks like. Icons? Doughnut boxes? Lego Cherubim? please, Lord, no Garfield...
A nice bit of writing AB. That guy certainly has been around for a while. :)
I always treat any customer services people with respect, I think they have a very difficult job, and it's always worthwhile bearing in mind that whatever the problem is, the person on the other end of the line is not the one who caused it.
An interesting perspective on the decline of good customer service, AB!
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