A Euology For Customer Service

I've never considered myself a high maintenance person. I prefer to do things for myself. I carry my own groceries, pump my own gasoline and I favor the self-checkout (barring that unwitting customer in front of me in line that can't figure out how to scan their groceries of course). But when I have a problem that I rely on a customer service professional to solve . . . well, I find myself in the uncomfortably impotent position of asking for help.

I find this position particularly frightening because I know it won't go well. It never does.

Recently I had a run in with my bank. I received a letter that they needed a W-9 for my account. I had opened the account 4 years ago, but apparently there was something wrong with the paperwork - something unsigned or lost or something. (I've asked exactly what the problem was, and even though I was told perhaps the government did change my social security number and not tell me, I have yet to receive a credible answer.)

So I filled out the form and went to the bank where I was told it was a formality and it would all be taken care of without incident. Oh, and the interest the bank had forfeited that belonged to me - I'd be getting that back also. They were sorry for the inconvenience and no, they couldn't explain why I had received the letter the day before, why the dated letter had said I had 30 days to provide a w-9 or I would forfeit interest and interest had already been forfeited less than 10 days from the date of the letter. But, clearly I was entitled to my interest back and could they interest me in purchasing any C.D.'s with an attractive interest rate?

Fast forward a week and the interest has not been returned to my account, and in fact additional interest has been pinched from my account. I consider this nothing less than stealing at this point. The letter clearly states 30 DAYS - I've now filled out the w-9 3 separate times for this bank. What more can I do? I know the letter directs me to call . . . what else, a dreaded 800 number . . .

Dreaded is right. After holding for what feels like 10 minutes, listening to the worst possible music (I'd really rather have silence) I am greeted by a call center customer service rep. She can't tell me why the interest is still being forfeited or when I'll be getting it back. She can't tell me anything except that her department doesn't really deal with matters like this. WHAT?! Doesn't deal with this - well then, who does? Because the letter (which I am so grateful I saved) states at the bottom that if I have ANY questions in this matter to call this number. She'll check with her manager . . . please hold.

While on hold, the call drops. There's more to the story but I think this ending really sums it up. Customer Service, we will all miss you. Muzak, a monotone read "I'm sorry that happened to you", and the automated "please key in your account number followed by the pound symbol" will never replace accountable people with follow through.

Rest in peace Customer Service, rest in peace.

Revive or DNR?

I missed my 10 year high school reunion last year. (Well, I wouldn't say I "missed" it . . . ) I was buying a house and we closed the weekend of the reunion.  The reunion was back in NY and I really didn't have the time to fly back home.  But the invitation did get me to thinking. 

Perhaps it's because I'm from a small town where the 60 or so people that go to Kindergarten with you graduate with you 13 years later.  There are so many cousins in the class that you wonder how the town can manage to pro-create without resorting to a (albeit infrequent) blind eye and if your family doesn't go back at least three generations in that town, then you're not to be trusted, as you are an "outsider." Regardless of the reason, after I graduated high school, I really didn't give much thought to my old classmates.  After all somethings (like penny loafers and scrunchies) should remain in the past, right?

The very premise of the high school reunion has me perplexed? I wonder whose brain-child it was to bring together a group of people that knew each other at their absolute worst. (Yeah. that sounds like fun.)  I've never encountered meaner people than I did in high school.  Perhaps social decorum doesn't guide adolescents yet, or perhaps we're painfully aware of how unsure of ourselves we are, and as a result things just sting a bit more.  I don't know.  

Add to the mix that there really isn't anything that binds the group together outside of the fact that we graduated together 10 years prior, and it seems inevitable that old habits will re-emerge.  I can't help but think there will be the dark gossip of who's the greatest failure, who gained the most weight, who's in rehab (or should be) and a sick competition from people vying for titles like most successful, most happy, most well-adjusted, most envied; it all contributes to a pretty awkward situation.  I really don't know what I'd say to the guy that called me boring during an in-class discussion, or the girl I thought was fake that ended up marrying one of my best high school pals.  I guess you're supposed to just forget about the hateful things that were said, the efforts to exclude others, the unfortunate clothing choices and focus on the field hockey games you won.  Or perhaps you're supposed to talk about what you're up to now and hope others find it interesting and can relate.  Do people fall right back into the people they were in high school?  

When I see my parents, there's always a slight regression to a time when I lived with them.  Do reunions work that way too?  Do people regress back to who they were then? If so, who would want to be that person (or with those people again).  I think for most people High School is something to be survived. I was vice-president of my class, and I don't look back fondly on the experience. Maybe the President of the class or the prom queen do, but I'm skeptical.

Given all this I think, while a blog may need reviving, when it comes to high school, one's best practice may be to squash morbid curiosity and wisely Do Not Resuscitate.