My two-cents worth and then some. An online journal by LP Brown.

Customer Service Woes: Your Call is (Not) Important (Part One of Two)

by on ·Customer Service

Everyone I know has a customer service nightmare story, and things seem to be worsening. Several months ago, one of my cousins began having a problem with her cell phone. She called her wireless carrier numerous times concerning the issue. Then, one day, she and a phone rep, whom I’ll call Agent Jekyll, had a quibble. Instead of handling the matter professionally and trying to resolve the problem, Agent Jekyll became agitated and transformed into Agent Hyde. Frustrated with the bickering, my cousin ended the call. Subsequently, Agent Hyde, perhaps still fuming, did something that might have gotten him fired when good customer service was standard. His action is proof that no matter the occupation, power in the wrong hands can be misused and damaging.

My cousin’s health issues make reliable phone service essential. So she bought a new phone and was baffled when she began experiencing connectivity problems with it. In the meantime, she would often use her daughter’s mobile, which is on her account. Finally, a few months after purchasing the new phone, my cousin inadvertently learned the source of the problem.

While out running an errand one day, her daughter tried to phone her mom and received a “No mobile connectivity” message from her mother’s phone. She rushed home and told her mom, who then used her daughter’s phone to contact the carrier. Fortunately, she lucked up and got a patient and empathetic agent to assist her at that time. After troubleshooting the issue, the agent discovered that (unbeknownst to my cousin) the last agent, Jekyll-Hyde, had disconnected her line. My cousin resolved to report the matter to the Corporate office.

Aside from my personal experiences, I learned from research and conversations with friends that lousy customer service is widespread in many companies. Unprofessional reps sometimes show poor judgment or malintent by doing something impractical, like disconnecting a customer’s phone line without justification.

As bad as my cousin’s phone episode was, I discovered, on sites like helpcrunch.com, examples of poor customer service that are even worse than what my cousin experienced. In one instance, an Amazon customer bought $90 worth of toilet paper and was charged more than $7000 in shipping costs. Getting that overcharge refunded was a major challenge.

An article on Forbes.com, “The Decline of Customer Service in America,” blames poor customer service on “a lack of training and failure by businesses to invest in basic customer service training skills.”

I know I am not the only one who longs to return to the days when providing excellent customer service was a business priority. Innovative companies know that providing good customer service helps retain customers and generates new business when satisfied customers spread the word about the service they received.

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Customer Service Woes: Hold-Time, One for the Record Book (Part Two of Two)

by on ·Customer Service

I called the Social Security office some months ago to ask a simple question. After several rings, someone finally picked up; only it wasn’t someone; it was an IVR, an Interactive Voice Response system (IVR). Laypeople like me prefer to call it an automated answering system or recorded message. As soon as I heard the telephone menu begin, I knew that getting a quick answer to an easy question might take a while, but since I had some time on my hands, I decided to wait.

Research by Velaro and other companies that have studied customer hold times shows that 60% of patrons hang up after one minute. I know from experience that government agencies are notorious for long hold times, so I expected to be in the hold cue for several minutes. But, I didn’t expect to become a hostage in the IVR jail where the messages played intermittently and the same information looped repeatedly. To avoid repetition in this post, I’ve indicated (in parenthesis) the frequency with which some messages played. Let me take you back to that day.

Ring. Ring.

After the second ring, I hear a click and think, I can’t believe someone picked up immediately. But then I hear this.

IVR: “Your wait period is approximately 50 minutes.”

Me:  FIFTY MINUTES! They’ve got to be kidding me. I think that perhaps I misheard, and tell myself the message said 15 minutes, not 50, so I waited. The time is 8:55 a.m.

Keeping the phone pressed to my ear, I lean back in my chair, grab the TV remote with my free hand and begin channel surfing. And then I hear.

IVR (9:09 a.m.): “Thank you for holding. We appreciate your patience. We are assisting other people and will help you as soon as we can.” (This message repeated at 9:15 and 9:22 a.m.)

At 9:10, I put the phone on speaker, set it on my desk, began filing my nails, and reflected on the days when customer service meant person-to-person, not person-to-computer. Usually, after the second ring, the third at most, a real person would answer the phone, sometimes even in government offices.

Everyone knows that holding the phone for an extended period is frustrating, but you don’t dare hang up and call back only to have to start again.

It used to be that a caller could press zero to bypass the gibberish and immediately be connected to a live person. But businesses eliminated the zero feature, leaving time-pressed callers no choice but to wait.

Some companies now place callers in a phone queue, sort of a virtual waiting room, and offer them the option of holding or receiving a callback. But unfortunately, the Social Security system did not offer that option. And so, instead of twiddling my thumbs, I busied myself playing online word games, scrolling my social media pages, and reading emails. Occasionally, I read the news tickers at the bottom of the muted TV screen.

IVR (9:16 a.m.): “We apologize for this delay if you are calling for general information. If you are applying for retirement, disability, or spousal benefits, you may want to visit us at www.social security.gov.” (This message repeated at 9:21 a.m.)

ME: Thinking. If someone in the freaking office would answer the phone, I will tell you that I tried unsuccessfully to log on to the website. Several times. 

IVR (9:17 a.m.): “We regret that you have waited so long.”

ME: No, you don’t.

IVR: “We are doing our best to answer your call. Social Security provides benefits to more than 50 million. We are taking calls in the order in which they came.”

ME:  Sarcastically. In which they came. Where did they come from? And what’s my position in line now, number 49 million?

IVR (9:18 a.m.): “Thank you for holding. We appreciate your patience. We are assisting other people and will help you as soon as we possibly can.”

IVR (9:19 a.m.): “At the conclusion of your call, we would like you to participate in a short survey and tell us about your experience. If you would like to participate in the survey, please stay on the line after the agent hangs up.” (This message repeated at 9:24 a.m.)

ME: You’d better believe it. I’ve got plenty to say on your lame survey.

Following the 9:19 IVR message, I hear something different. Four fast beeps. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

ME: That beeping. It’s surely a sign that someone is about to pick up. So I wait, and wait, and watch the numbers on my digital clock flip over. And then a different message plays.

IVR (9:20 a.m.): “Thank you for waiting. Someone will assist you shortly. Please have handy your Social Security number and any recent mail we have sent you. Having this information will help us to serve you better.”

ME:  Here we go. Pick up the phone. I perk up. But then.

At 9;22 a,m. the message that played at 9:17 repeats.

ME: I can’t believe I’ve been holding on for nearly 30 minutes. Surely, I’ve set a Guinness Book record. Joking aside, frustration sets in. This is the first and last time I’ll do this again. I tell myself.

IVR (9:23 a.m.): I hear the four beeps again, and then – a pause.

ME: I’m sure someone is going to pick up now. I’m preparing to stand up and do a happy dance. When, for the third time, I hear…

IVR: “Thank you for holding. We appreciate your patience. We are assisting other people and will help you as soon as we can.”

9:25 – 9:55 a.m. All of the IVR messages continue to play intermittently. And then, just as I am about to wave a white flag and hang up, a real live human voice says, “May I help you?”

I take a deep breath and slowly exhale. I refuse to fly off the handle because the SS employee might expect that, and I don’t want him to hang up on me. So I unclench my teeth, fake cheerfulness in my voice, and say …

Me: “Good Morning. I’m calling to inquire about my 1099 form.”

I barely finish the sentence before the human says in a robotic tone, “The 1099 forms are being mailed from headquarters throughout the month of January. You should receive yours before the end of the month. Is there anything else I can help with?”

ME: “Thank you. No.” I hang up and scream, “AHHHHH!”

Had I not recorded the times and automated messages, I would not have believed that I engaged in a one-hour hold-time marathon for a conversation that lasted about 20 seconds.

And for fear that Big Brother might snatch my SS check if I left some profane remarks, I did not take the survey.

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Reflecting on the Dark Side

by on ·Black Lives, BLM, Lifestyle and Culture, Opinion

 Co-written with David White

My cousin, David, is a deep thinker, much more so than I am. I often marvel at his insight and what I see as his skill at analyzing situations. He is also very modest, so I’m sure he will admonish me for gushing over him in this post. But I call it as I see it. In addition to many things my cousin and I have in common, our intense dislike for small talk and delight in engaging in stimulating conversations often lead us into deep discussions, usually about politics and social issues. And since at least one (moi – and perhaps both) of us dislikes marathon phone conversations, we primarily correspond via email.

Yesterday, inadvertently, on the eve of Black History month, our topic was the Tyre Nichols tragedy. I did not watch and have no plans to watch the infamous video. Whenever a newscast predictively includes a portion of the videos, I change the channel or mute the TV and look away. I DON’T WANT TO SEE IT. The whole situation has become a repeat of an ongoing practice that keeps many of us (black people) in a perpetual state of sorrow for the victims and their families. The needless killings keep repeating like reruns of old TV shows.

Copicide, as I call it, is a modern-day Shakespearean-type tragedy not made for TV. Here’s how I described the plot of the ongoing series on my FB page: “Unwarranted murder by cop. Heartbreak and outrage expressed by the family. Calls for justice by Crump and Sharpton. Protests by activists. Expressions of regret and condolences to the family by city officials. Calls for reform by those same officials and politicians. Hashtag, here we go again. Second verse same as the first.”

As he often does, my cousin impressed me when he laid out his perspective.

I could write a dissertation on my feelings regarding the Tyre Nichols situation. It is so painful. But humans who feel they are licensed to hierarchize human life on a scale of “more or less worthy of humane treatment ” leads to this – one of the reasons (among many) I’m against the death penalty. Once you deem someone else’s life worthy of less respect than you would give your own, it logically proceeds that things like this happen. It gives [carte-blanche, my two cents] the authority and power to act on those prejudices.

I didn’t watch all of the videos but [saw] enough to know what it was about … Everyone intuitively knows that if that young man had been white and every other circumstance were the same, there would have been a totally different outcome, if any incident at all. 

I worked at a prison, and I know how easy it is for people to be depersonalized and dehumanized. And, to get into the racial part … Eddie Glaude on MSNBC alluded to a Baldwin citation, which I can only attempt to paraphrase. [He said] that racism becomes a systemic way to view others, and blacks can easily assimilate that same racist attitude given the right conditions. It makes it much more painful because many black people are oblivious to how we have adapted and internalized the attitudes we ostensibly rebuke.

I will never forget how hurt and ashamed I felt while walking the historic campus grounds at the predominantly white University of North Carolina. I passed a large group of black students in front of the main library and heard one female approach another person (a male, I believe) and, with a smile, greet him with “Hey nigger.”

Keep in mind that scores of students (mostly white) were making their way to and from classes at that time. I wanted to find Star Trek’s Scottie and have him beam me to my dorm and erase the memory. I’m sure they [the black students] thought they were being hip, cool, and defiant by uttering such an offensive word, and in their mind, making it powerless or some mark of distinction. But I know what they were really saying is “You may be at a white school, you might be academically gifted, but I see you the same way a lot of these white folks see you.”

That’s the sentiment that comes to mind when I hear about [the Nichols tragedy].  

 I know I’m going to sound like an old fogey, but whenever I hear the N-word, it jangles me. I will never be comfortable with that word, and it pains me when I see young people blasting their music, and every other word in the song is N-word this and N-word that, and white and black [people in proximity] hear this. I feel [that those who use the N-word] have an [warped] idea about what racism is and what it is not. For example, some think that a particular effect, attitude, and worldview make you “black.” And if you don’t conform to [that way of thinking], then you’re not really black.

When I was in college, many students dropped a class if they didn’t see any other black students taking the course because they had assimilated the idea that there are certain places where they don’t “belong;” not because anyone overtly told them that but because they had been acculturated to believe it. That’s why [some people] can treat a black stranger entirely differently from a white stranger and not see how that is a form of racism.  

Not to throw fuel on an eternal flame, I’m piggybacking on David’s thoughts about the intricacy of racism and the angst it causes by adding one more thing. I did watch the video showing an intruder’s break-in at the home of now-former House Speaker Nancy Pelosi. When the door opened, the police saw a hefty-looking white guy grasping the arm of Peloski’s elderly husband with one hand while welding a hammer in his other hand, and the intruder still lives to talk about it. I’ll leave that right there.

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Trying to Connect the Pieces

by on ·Cousins, Family, General, Strange Happenings

A few days ago, I got an IM on Facebook from my cousin, Velda. But, unfortunately, there was no note, just a photo of a certificate that appears to have been yellowed by age. At first glance, I thought, “Why is she sending this to me?”

I examined the document more closely, letting my eyes slide down the page until they reached the name beneath the words:  This is to certify that . . . .

My antennae went up. Wait a minute! I thought. Rewind. Reread the page. The name on the line above the signatures of four officials affiliated with the program offered by the DC Public Schools’ Department of Industrial and Adult Education was mine.

The certificate, dated January 20, 1966, was presented for completion of a 12-hour course in Individual and Family Survival. I stared at it for the longest time. I couldn’t recall ever seeing that document before, but my maiden name in my handwriting leaped at me from the signature line. But how? When? I drew a stupefied blank.

Granted that it was nearly a hundred years ago (You all stop calculating. Of course, I’m exaggerating, give or take a few decades. LOL), my mind is still relatively keen, and I like to think I would remember taking that course. After all, I still remember that Mr. Simmons, the Business Ed teacher, was, in my opinion, the most handsome and sexiest teacher in our high school, but that’s a post for another time.

Since the resurrected certificate was dated six months before I graduated from high school, I can only surmise that it may have been a class compulsory for meeting graduation requirements. But wow! Who would have thought? And what was the relevance of a course in Individual and Family Survival? Considering the decade, a civil defense Duck and Cover course might have been more appropriate. However, since the certificate shows that the study was presented by the Office of Civil Defense Adult Education, perhaps it was developed to show us how to prepare ourselves and our future families for emergencies or nuclear disasters. I doubt if I would have voluntarily taken what appears to be a mundane course unless I was under the duress of not graduating for lack of required credits.

I instant-messaged Velda and asked how she got the certificate. She said she discovered it while cleaning out one of her mom’s closets. Of course, then I wanted to know how her mom, my Aunt Imogene, got possession of it. Velda said it was inside an old photo album that had belonged to one of our deceased uncles, Uncle Henry. Velda’s mom is married to one of Uncle Henry and my dad’s brothers.

Of course, the next question was how Uncle Henry got it. Although he had lived in the same city as my family and me for years before he moved to North Carolina, I doubt if my mom and dad would have given it to him. As I discovered when my sister and I were clearing out my parents’ home following our mother’s death in 2014, mother kept nearly every report card, honor roll certificate, and other achievement documents that my siblings and I acquired while in school.

Since my parents are deceased and Uncle Henry died over 20 years ago, I will probably never learn how my certificate traveled from my parent’s home and wound up over 250 miles away inside the photo album where Velda discovered it. But I sure would like to know. And it may seem coincidental to those who believe in coincidences (I don’t) that Velda, the Parker family genealogist, would be the one to discover a piece of my personal history. Well, Shazam, Cuz!

There is an old aphorism that holds much truth: “Life is a jigsaw puzzle with most of the pieces missing.” I would include “with some disjointed pieces that don’t seem to fit.”

Thanks, Cuz, for adding another disjointed piece to the jigsaw puzzle of my life.

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Out with the Old, In with the New Bucket List!

by on ·Bucket List, General, New Year

Decades ago, after asking myself, “Why make ’em to break ’em?” I stopped making New Year’s Resolutions and began updating my bucket list on the eve. But, of course, life’s impermanence assures no guarantees, and those cousins – time and circumstance – determine whether my bucket list items get checkmarks, lined out, or revised. And, if I had to choose between having a root canal or taking a plane anywhere, I’ll make the dental appointment. In plain English, if I have to fly to get there, then I’m not going.

So, here is my updated, simple, feet-on-the-ground bucket list.

Fly a kite over the ocean. When my children were young, I would occasionally take them to the parking lot of a nearby schoolyard to fly their kites. Now that they’re grown, whenever I think about kite flying, I remember that I enjoyed it as much as they did, and I’d like to do it one more time, only not in a parking lot. Instead, I’ll fly my kite at a beach and hope my adventure won’t be like the dream I once had where… I’m at a beautiful beach and happy that I won’t have to worry about my kite getting tangled in trees or telephone lines. Instead of flimsy paper, I have a sturdy, nylon diamond kite with vivid red, yellow, and royal blue colors and a long black and purple prism ribbon tail. As soon as I lift the kite, the wind grabs it. The string begins to unravel rapidly as a strong breeze sends my prize soaring so high above the ocean that it kisses a feathery cloud in the bright blue sky. I hold the kite spool tightly with both hands, dig my heels into the sand, and assume a rigid, anti-gravity backward lean reminiscent of Michael Jackson in his Smooth Criminal video. A stronger gust pulls my kite out further over the water, and I struggle to hold on to it even as I am being dragged toward the ocean like a bare-foot water skier. I swerve left and right, trying to avoid colliding with sunbathers while attempting to reel it in. As my feet reach the shoreline, the string snaps, and I fall to the ground. Then, I scramble to my feet and watch my beautiful psychedelic-colored kite sail up, up, and away like a beautiful, helium-filled balloon until it disappears into the horizon.  

Go rock wall climbing again. The tomboy I was during my youth lives inside me. It resurfaced each time I scaled the indoor rock wall at the ClimbZone. It didn’t bother me that the younger and more agile folks climbed rings around me and scampered to the top. I was happy to make it halfway. Nor was I daunted by the fall I took when rappelling in 2019. Thanks to the safety harness, it was a soft drop, and nothing was broken or hurt except my pride. I’m not one who readily accepts defeat. I’ve since learned the proper way to rappel. So, I’m up to the challenge, ready and eager to try it once more. This time I aim to reach the top.

Get tickets (again) for The View. Over the years, I twice requested and was offered tickets to my all-time favorite TV program, The View. Regretfully, I could not go on the assigned dates. But, if it’s true that three’s the charm, and I get the opportunity again to be an audience member, come hell or high water, I’ll be there. That would be second only to the thrill my sister-in-law, Barbara, and I felt after being in Oprah’s audience in January 1986.

Have a granddaughter. Okay, this one is tricky. I have six grandsons and not a single granddaughter. While I love my grandsons to the moon and back, I’d still like to have a granddaughter. And yes, all things considered, I’ll settle for a great-granddaughter. Baby gods, do you hear me?

Travel cross-country in a sleeping car on Amtrak. While I’ve never aspired to be a globetrotter, there are a few places I’ve been that I’d like to revisit, and my travel would be on Amtrak. Denver is one of those places. I was mesmerized by the picturesque scenery near the mountain cabin where we lodged. The other place I’d like to visit again is beautiful Anaheim, California, and while I’m in the Golden State, I’d like to see the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Finally, there are two other places I would enjoy going to see outside the country – Ghana and Switzerland. But since those would require nine or ten hours in the air, I’ve nixed them. Even a one-hour flight is too long for me.

Revel in Times Square on New Year’s Eve one more time. My initial visit to Times Square on NYE was in 1968. That night was frigid. My then-husband and I nearly froze to death. Every year since then, while watching the New Year’s Eve festivities on TV, I say to myself, “Maybe, just one more time.” When I was younger, it didn’t bother me to be in a crowd among hundreds or more people. I enjoyed the camaraderie. I’ve participated in numerous walk-a-thon fundraisers and marches for various causes, including the anti-Klan rally in DC (I believe that was in 1989), the 50th Anniversary of the March on Washington in 2013, and the Women’s March in 2017. Of late, I dislike being in crowds because people have lost their minds, and the safety and health risks are indeterminable. Just today, I learned of a machete attack in Times Square last night. Nevertheless, in a fit of temporary insanity, I might decide to do Times Square one more time.

Finish the darn book I’ve been working on for over a year. I know some authors have taken as long as a decade (some even longer) to finish writing their books. Procrastination is my nemesis, and frequent interruptions don’t help either. (A quiet cabin in the mountains would be the ideal place to write.) Whenever I feel like quitting the project, I draw inspiration from the words of Toni Morrison, “If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” I swallow Morrison’s dictate with a warm chaser, “If you are not afraid of the voices inside you, you will not fear the critics outside you.” – Natalie Goldberg (author of Writing Down the Bones).

My list is too long to continue elaborating on each topic, so I’ll list the other items without summaries for now.

  • Take another couples kickboxing or self-defense course.
  • Eat all I want and not gain a pound.
  • Meditate, do yoga, and work out every day to stay healthy.
  • Take piano lessons again.
  • Improve my bowling skills.
  • Go roller skating.
  • Volunteer at an animal shelter.
  • Always be humble, express gratitude, and adhere to the teachings of Desiderata – particularly this phrase, “As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

Happy New Year, readers. Thanks for your support, and God bless!

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