come again??

The most essential gift for a good writer is a built-in, shock-proof shit detector.

- Ernst Hemingway

Communication skills are taken for granted. I think people just assume that if they can be heard, they can be understood. . . and I don’t mean understood in any sort of intellectual or spiritual or deep-in-thought way, I’m talking about understood like I-can-make-out-the-words-that-just-came-out-of-your mouth way.

Which brings me to my main point: It is my firm belief that if a person works at a place of business, where they were hired at some point for any number of reasons and are receiving payment for their services, and that person is charged with the responsibility of picking up a telephone and holding it to their face in order to reach out to customers, that said person should be able to say with little difficulty the following things – a greeting, name of business, name of person, company motto, etc. – without me wanting to drive over in my pajamas, glasses, and pillow hair to beat them silly with their own phone.

You ask, why so angry, Melissa?

Well, for many reasons, but in this specific case because I don’t understand why it’s hard for people who claim to be professionals to vocalize, enunciate, slow down, take interest in the needs of others, pretend to be even remotely intelligent. Even if you aren’t, fake it.

While this has been a growing concern of mine, it was an incident a few days ago that really got to me. It’s rather lengthy, so as to make it as annoying as it felt – and to reprimand you for not yet subscribing to my blog =P

My phone wasn’t working the other day. I probably need a new phone soon. Great, will do. My phone happens to have Verizon service. Great reception. Nice phones. Somewhat humorous commercials. However, the thought of actually going to my local Verizon store fills me with rage, anxiety, and deep-seated hatred. It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when I didn’t know better, and I thought stores were stores, salespeople were salespeople, everyone has a job to do, and they do it well. Then life hit me, I worked in retail for a year and-a-half when I was in high school, I realized how horrible customers could be, I found another job a world away from retail, resumed the role of simply the customer, realized how horrible retail people could be – ended up feeling sorry for both parties involved.

Yet, whenever I went to a Verizon store, I never ever felt sorry for the salespeople, and my last meeting with the store made it very clear why I feel that way.

So, my dad is nice enough to take the phone for me to the store to see if they can fix it. He comes back an hour later, no doubt having received the best customer service one could ask for, with the news that they are giving me a new phone, and they took my old phone. What about all my contacts? They said they can’t transfer them. So they’ll give me a new phone.

Okay, so let me get this straight, they took it upon themselves to decide that they would fix my problem, throw my very extensive phone book into the trash and grace me with a new phone that I’ll have to pay for anyway? They thought this was a good idea?

Perhaps they weren’t thinking clearly. It’s early in the morning. I’ll call them and tell them I’m going to pick up my phone. Here is my phone call (note: the symbols are not curse words, just a lot of mumbling):

Them: Hi. Thisis Robdjfdfl. Thankyouforcalling Verzxofjjdg. *&#*&*!&#help*&$*!#! you?
Me: Yes, my father just dropped off my phone, and they said it couldn’t be fixed, so they took it and said they would be issuing me a new phone. However, I really need the numbers on my phone book, and they told my father that they cannot retrieve those numbers.
Them: Ugghh . . . (that’s always nice and clear)
Me: When I last had my phone, I could still very much see and retrieve my phone numbers, so I’d like to pick up the phone so I can do that. I don’t want anybody to erase those numbers or throw the phone away.
Them: Ugghh. . . hold on. . .
Me: Thank you. (awaiting customer service)

Them II: sdfhn;vwuern;va uiawel;iu vker vjklwejrvlkjkljklwej kjwe kjaewrklj vkjlwel;k
Me: Hey. . . . (I go on to repeat every word, in even greater detail, that I already did to the fellow Robdjfdfl before.
Them II: jdsfakldjf kj youcant do that dfadj jasdkfj kjsdfklj ksdjf kjsdf lksd
Me: I’m sorry, what? I didn’t understand you.
Them II: You &*&$#@$!^cantdo #$@&*$*!that.
Me: I don’t understand. I just want to pick up my old phone and forget that I brought it in. I want to cancel the request for a new phone.
Them II: Youcanthavetwophonesatonce. (he actually said this)
Me: (agitated, giving my phone a nasty look) I don’t want two phones. . . I want my phone. I would like to take my phone back and get my numbers from it before I put in the request for a new phone.
Them II: {snorts} (yes, snorts) Well. . . . you can getour ^%!#^$%^$! otherphone then.
Me (pause, compose, breathe): I don’t want another phone. I would like my phone. I only want one phone.
Them II: Whatver. Comeinthenadn%^!#^#!@&*

So, I drove to the store, got on line, waited there for 15 minutes as I glared at the two people at customer service, one of them the lady who had taken it upon herself to take my old phone and disregard my phone book or even attempt to get my numbers, and the other illustrious man, the epitome of intelligence who I spoke to on the phone. 15 minutes go by, they stare at me, I stare at them, they stare at me, “Linda,” I stare at them, “Jack,” they stare at me.

A good crowd of people are there, and one of them answers the telephone. OMG!! I realize you’re customer service, and perhaps it is bad management or you’re understaffed (but believe me, they weren’t), but why the crap are the two people who are catering to 15 people in the store also required and even allowed to pick up a friggin’ telephone?

Finally, still waking up, thinking about the cereal I ran out on, I realize that Jack and Jill behind the counter know something I don’t. Fully awake, I turn around, to find a service representative staring into space. So I ask her, “Was I supposed to sign in?” She laughs, “Oh dear!! Have you been standing here all this time?”

“Look, please, I just want my phone back,” I tell her, and explain the back story. “Here is the receipt for the new phone. I don’t want it. I just want my phone back.”

She’s nice enough, takes my receipt, goes to save my phone. 5 minutes. She returns with my phone. Sans receipt.

“Thank you so much. Oh, can I have my receipt back? I want to make sure I don’t get a call in two hours telling me to pick up a phone and a bill.

“Right. . . I’ll be right back.” 5 minutes. She’s looking for it. 10 minutes. She must have lost it. 15 minutes. She’s reprinting me a new one and baking me cookies. She returns with the exact same receipt I gave her.

“When you come back,” she says, “you’ll have to do the whole process again for the new phone.”

“Yes, I know. They explained to me I can’t have two phones at once. I won’t be back any time soon.” With that I left – me, my broken phone, and my sanity.

Look, I know customers can suck sometimes, but I know that people in retail can as well. Yeah, it might not be the greatest job, but it is a job, and just as everyone else has a job to do, at least try to do it well. Picking up a phone and driving the person on the other line insane is not professional. Oh, and this has nothing to do with a language barrier because we were all speaking English. It’s a matter of opening your mouth with at least an inkling of pride in your work and some care for the people you’re helping. It’s about not mumbling. It’s about not snorting. It’s about not holding long, dramatic pauses so that you can be obnoxious. It’s about not watching someone stand in line for 15 minutes without at least giving them a hint she forgot to do something when you know perfectly well that a new sign-in system was recently implemented that most people who haven’t been to the store in three months don’t know about.

Communication, people. You can flip my computer around, twirl it on your head, make it dance, send a rocket to space with it, but if I get a migraine trying to figure out what your mouth is saying, it really doesn’t matter.

With all this mumbling apathy going around, I’m afraid to even think about what people’s penmanship looks like these days.