Attention To Detail
No sooner had my ass landed in my chair, my lips inches away from my first sip of go juice (coffee) than my phone started bleating to me, begging for me to stop its tortured screams by pressing the little red button thus sending my cubicle into silence that would be redirected into my company issued head set. The agent on the other end explained to me the situation that required a supervisor�s tender touch. I had her repeat it for me twice more, while I suckled the plastic lid of my 24 ounce Circle K issued coffee cup to get my brain functions moving and to attempt to comprehend exactly what this particular customer�s lack of understanding was.
With a beleaguered sigh of resentment the caller was routed to me and I put my �supervisor� voice on. For visual reference and clarification purposes my supervisor voice is a higher pitched, friendly, non-combative tone that conveys apologetic understanding, a false air of sincerity and belays beyond anything a willingness to do whatever I can to help my fellow man. My linguistic skills are more than just an ability to duplicate cartoon voices. It is of course a false representation of my utter contentment of the ignorance most of these folks display, but hey, they don�t know that.
Most of my �escalated� assistance calls start and end with this voice; I apologize profusely and tell the cm�s what I can do for them and not what can�t be done. This is a fairly effective way of controlling a customer and sending them off with a dazed sense of victory, even if in the confusion there problem was never really addressed; most of the populace of this country is easy manipulated if you don�t have to look at them while you out talk them. 96% of the calls related to this part of my job are resolved this way.
2% are transferred to a manager higher up on the food chain for the inconsolable or for those that I lose by occasionally making mistakes like laughing, joking or simply being out right rude and non-apologetic to assholes that refuse to budge. In this particular area, when the immoveable object meets the unstoppable force, we have an entire chain of command set in place to simply exhaust customers into defeat; you have to be an incredibly tenacious prick with lots of time on your hands to defeat our barrage of defensive mechanisms.
The last 2% of these calls are the ones I truly love because the people that I deal with are either stupid to the point of retardation or stupid to the point of retardation that have a momentary burst of cleverness that they latch onto because such thoughts only come once in a lifetime for them. Here is when I can try and reason with the customers or be as nasty or as nice as I wish because it never occurs to them that I might have a boss they can talk request to complain to about my behavior. The normal result from this call type is for the customer to shriek incomprehensibly at me while I openly laugh and chastise them because they usually argue about asinine things that anyone with a 6th grade education wouldn�t consider conversational worthy, let alone business worthy.
Today a frustrated and nearly tearful agent transferred a little old lady to me with little explanation. This tenacious woman proceeds to recant a nearly five minute tale as to how her one late husband and two late cats met an untimely demise. The story involved bathing one cat at a time, one of the cat�s extreme jealous tendencies, a blow dryer and a large amount of electrocution. At the end of her rant, she inquired as to why we couldn�t ship some ornamental vases. I sat in stunned silence for quite some time before apologizing to her for her loss and problems she had with the previous rep before going through the motions of our standard pickup procedures. I was nearly to the end of my task, listening to her sniffle sadly into my eardrums when a light bulb sprung to life above my head.
Using the emotions and the little kindness that I actually posses against me to get your way is a big no-no. When I actually have moments of compassion, I like to feel good about what I have done. Making a cartoon heel of a shoe, a candy sucker or head of a donkey suddenly manifest in the space between my shoulder blades under such circumstances is not a smart thing to do. Retribution for such actions is swift and merciless. With a sly tone I advised the grieving widow that my company does not ship a number of items, up to and including human and animal remains under the guise of a standard spiel given to all customers. When asked her if she had any number of the items she faltered, stumbled over her words and responded that she did not. The wavering in her voice was all I needed and I attacked; slowly at first but with building momentum. I covered guidelines and regulations set in place by various government agencies that regulate air travel and air cargo, penalties and fines for misinformation about contents and brought the hammer down letting her know that jail time for illegally packaging and shipping remains of any kind is increasingly common and such horrendous practices have been cracked down upon in recent months (a lie, but a very effective one).
She buckled like a belt, or more specifically shattered under my verbal lashing and disintegrated into a wailing mass of flesh beyond reasoning as she admitted her sins to me as if I were on the other side of a confessional box. She endlessly apologized for her deception, pleading with me to overlook this and help her out as she never really like the cats or her husband and just wanted to put an end to the whole debacle in the cheapest way possible so she could move on with her life. I coolly advised her that I would not be able to assist her further and let her know there were alternative methods of shipping cremated remains at her disposal, before sarcastically thanking her for calling and disconnecting the call. Standard procedure for trouble customers that are bound to call back is a mass distribution via electronic mail to forewarn the customer service department of such unsavory characters. With a twist, I added my personal contact information so if she were to actually attempt this again, she would run into a brick wall the likes of which she will never see coming; me.
Eleven minutes later I received a phone call from a frustrated rep who briefly recanted a tale about Mr. Brown trying to bath Fluffy and Samantha and a terrible accident that happened and how this woman kept changing her stories and wouldn�t take no for an answer. With a sly grin the Cheshire Cat would envy, our mentally troubled shipper of corpses was patched through
I am happy to report I set a personal best for handling a problem customer and a standard I will probably never top. One and a half seconds after I stated to Mrs. Brown that, �Your ass is mine and you still can�t ship your dead cats� she showed her true colors, uttered a string of obscenities and slammed down the phone. This happened three more times with the same result and every time Mrs. Brown was greeted by snarls of contempt and mocking laughter.
It�s the little things in life, the small details if you will, that I strive to derive the most pleasure from. Even if such pleasure comes at the cost of my soul. Mrs. Brown, this rants for you.
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