For training purposes
I do not like telephones.
I have what you might call a hate-hate relationship with them.
My first memory of a telephone was of a black Bakelite thing that hung on a bracket in the hall. It had one of those twirly dials that cut the finger off you if it was a long number. The only good thing about that phone was that if the caller was boring, you could idly pass the time by untwisting and unknotting the cord to the hand piece.
Nowadays they are all cordless and mobile so I keep losing the fucking things.
Apart from losing them, I find that they are constantly needing recharging which is a bit of a bugger. I normally leave the main phone charging in the junk room where no one can hear it, or else I bring it out to the living room where it promptly discharges, gets lost and ignores all incoming calls, which suits me down to the ground. My mobile is a simpler matter – I have discovered that switching it off stops the battery discharging, so that’s the way I leave it. Unfortunately when I want to use it I can never find it and there is no point in ringing it from the other phone as it’s switched off.
I had to make a few phone calls yesterday and today. As luck would have it, the calls were all to State and Semi-state organisations. Of course this involved using their fucking menu systems which drive me mad. Each one is a five Prozac job.
The last call was a ten Prozac one. I dialled the number and immediately this female with an oh-so-cheery-chirpy voice came on to welcome me to the company. Then we had the obligatory warning that “all calls are recorded and may be used for training purposes”. Why they can’t just warn us to watch our fucking language is beyond me. Next she announced that their menu system had changed [why I don’t know, as I don’t know what their old system was like], and that I was to listen to the entire menu before making my choice.
The very first option was the one I wanted so I pressed “1”. I swear to fuck she sighed at me. There was a pause and then she ignored my attempts and continued the whole fucking way through the menu. Then she asked me to make my choice. I pressed “1” again and the whore then started off on another series of fucking options. It is really no wonder they have that implied “watch your fucking language” notice at the beginning.
I swear if all companies ditched their fucking menu shit and employed real people it would make the world a better place to live in.
And we’d employ half the unemployed.
Aw Geez! You picked my pet peeve of all peeves there are. I fuckin’ hate voice menus and hate is a word I don’t use very often but I repeat, I fuckin’ HATE voice menu systems!!! ARRRRGGGGHHHHHH!
when people call my work and i answer my phone..they are shocked at reaching a real person, some so shocked and menu-sensitized they hang up because there is no press hello to say hello
I do most of my swearing down the phone – for training purposes, I’m almost quite fucking good at it now.
I binned all phones a year ago and now no-one can get to speak with me unless then knock on my door… except I don’t answer the door unless I recognise the caller via two fortuitously placed mirrors but I am pleased to say my world is a much better place as people generally say a lot less when they have no option but to write things down.
Brianf – I take it you’re not too fond of them?
Cat – I can well understand that. I am always very pleasantly surprised when a real live flesh and blood person answers the phone. Sometimes I am at a loss for words, as I have been bracing myself to scream abuse at the menu.
Patrick – I admire your restraint. In my case the phone, the television and Herself get it all the time.
Bill – That is not a bad idea. It would suit me particularly well as no one can ever find my house. The only person who knows where I live is the postman, and he has the sense not to deliver anything irritating [like bills and things].
The foreign call ‘Customer care’ centres are the best. You get some gobshite in Mumbai or outer Mongolia who no speeka da lingo, or you can’t understand a word of their pidgin.
I remember being abroad some years ago, trying to call home on the landline, fuck sake, it was like trying to get an appointment with God. Then I discovered Ireland Direct, lovely, a friendly soft Irish Homely voice who understood. Now its just bloody machines. Technology = Progress?????? no way.
Barely bearable for freephone numbers, but some are chargeable, often at a premium rate – e.g. 50p/min for the Tiscali helpline. Talk about rubbing salt….
The ultimate insult is when you’ve been passed from pillar to post, gone round a couple of times, then cut off for good measure. BT are world leaders at this. I reckon I wasted a total of two working days phoning them last year. It does literally reduce one to tears, particularly when they threatened to send in the bailiffs for money they owed me. Basil Fawlty would have spontaneously combusted.
What really annoys me (apart from the muzak) is the way they keep coming back every minute or two to say “please hold – your call is important to us”……No It Isnt obviously!