Highlights of the Day

Today will be a running listing of note-worthy customer quotes, rantings, or issues, paraphrased, and probably followed up with the response that I did NOT give them, but wish I had.

1. "I got a check card in the mail, and I tried to activate it. It told me it was an invalid card. Now WHY would SBLB send me an INVALID CARD?!"

Chill the FUCK OUT, you drama queen. You really think there's some maniacal asshole in Card Services somewhere like, "He he he, let's send this woman an invalid card!! How great a prank that is! Mwuahahahaha!" You're probably just keying in the card number, or your PIN, wrong. Or our automated system is from 1970 and glitches all the time. We'll get it figured out. No need for that fucking tone that all of you middle-aged female SBLB customers LOVE to use.

Quote of the Day

"At Big Bank, they would tell you they were going to whip you bloody, and you would be like, 'Yay! I get to be off the phone!'"

-The boyfriend, whom I met while working at Big Bank

All right, assholes.

Generally my posts here are intended to be funny, ranting entries about the absurdity I encounter on a daily basis at my job on the receiving end of a customer service phone number.

Today I want to take a more serious tone, and direct this post at anyone who calls a 1-800 number for anything.

Be nice.

Please?

We would really, really appreciate it.

Now, I know how frustrating it is to call a toll-free "customer service" number to resolve an issue with your bank account, cell phone bill, etc. I know that having to go through a thousand automated-system options to get to the right representative in the right department, only to be placed on hold for 10 minutes, can be infuriating. I know that all that automated-system nonsense, waiting on hold for a long time, and then possibly being told by the random representative 2,000 miles away from you that nothing can be done, or that whatever resolution you need will take longer than expected, can make you mad. And you're probably ready to lash out at the first person you can that represents that company, to express your frustration and hopefully get something done.

Well, knock it the fuck off!

How difficult is it for you assholes to realize that the people on the other end of that toll-free number you called are not the people that fucked up your account/cell plan/computer/gym mebership? Huh?

You have an overdraft fee, and you're literally screaming at me about it. You don't think we should charge that much, you don't think that you should have gotten the fee because when the transaction was made, there were funds available. You demand to me that I reverse all the fees, and when I'm only able to do one, two, half, or god forbid, none at all, you rip me a new one for not caring about you, for ripping you off, anything you can possibly think of, utilizing all of the expletives in your vocabulary.

Shut the fuck up.

Who the hell do you think you are, you pompous, ignorant fuckhead?

You really believe that it was me who charged your account? Do you think that I told you I couldn't reverse all of your fees because I decided I didn't like the sound of your voice, or your last name? Do you honestly think that they give us, the lowest employees on the totem pole, any freedom whatsoever to make judgment calls about your account, and your money? Our policies? Anything at all, really?

If you do, you're not only a goddamn, motherfucking asshole, you're also a fucking idiot.

When I see that I cannot reverse your overdraft fees, when I tell you that you need to go into the branch for something because I'm unable to take care of it over the phone for you, if I say that you need to take time out of your precious day to write SBLB a letter instead of emailing us about something, you need to grow a brain and understand that I'm not sitting around trying to invent the most inconvenient way possible for you to get your problem resolved. What I'm doing is informing you of the applicable policies and procedures of the company that I work for.

Yes, you are correct, some of our policies and procedures are inconvenient or seemingly archaic in design and practice. That's not uncommon among coporations anywhere, in the whole wide world, dumbass. You think some other bank will be perfect for you? You're wrong. We all have policies and procedures that we're not changing just because you feel inconvenienced by them. We all, every last one of us, has federal regulations that we must follow or risk being fined, closed, etc. You know what else? Yelling at me about it isn't going to do one thing to change it. Don't bitch at me about them. Write a letter to Ben Bernake. Yell at that guy. Furthermore, do you believe that I have the power to knock on the CEO's office door and let him know that we'd better change our availability policy, because John Smith with an overdraft fee is real pissed off and might close his account?

Please understand something. When you want an overdraft fee reversed, I essentially click a button on my computer. It said yes or no. If it says yes, IT tells me how much I can reverse. If it doesn't, then I don't reverse anything. I am not the one to decide if your sob story is believable enough to warrant further reversals. If your call center representative says "no," and you want to argue further, YOU'RE WASTING YOUR FUCKING TIME. They don't give us that kind of power. No call center does. That should be obvious to you blockheaded asshats. If I say I am unable to reverse fees, I may feel sympathy or empathy for you and your issues, but that doesn't matter one bit. Seriously. Just save your energy.

Now. Here's the advice I have to offer to you short-fused, fart-brained, trigger-happy douchebags:

Take a deep fucking breath. Don't allow your frustration at the company be expressed in the form of hostility to the person who answered your phone call. If that person is rude, condescending, or otherwise unpleasant to you and it's clear that it's due to no fault of yours, then sure, have at it. Speak with his or her supervisor. Whatever. But when you're talking to a reasonable employee who is clearly trying to help you, don't be an asshole! Remember that the person you are talking to did not make the rules that you don't like, they did not personally apply your overdraft fees to your account, it's not their fault you failed to read your terms and conditions, they were not the ones to physically keep your deposited funds from you for 5 business days. They are merely the people who are hired to help you resolve account issues and educate you on banking policies and procedures at your financial institution.

While we're at it, let's discuss closing your account. When you demand to get your fees reversed and threaten to close your account if the representative isn't allowed to (BECAUSE IT'S NOT THEIR FUCKING CHOICE!) you're not making a point. You're not scary, the person your talking to doesn't really give a fuck if you continue banking here.

Let me clarify. As an employee of SBLB, I do in fact care if you remain banking with us. I personally like SBLB the most in comparison to other banks in my area, I've banked with 3, and I've recently just reopened 4 joint accounts here with my significant other. When you tell me you're going to Big Bank, or Other Big Bank, or anywhere else, I want to tell you to beware, and sometimes I do. I also care because my continued employment depends on whether or not SBLB actually has customers, considering that I am in the customer service business.

However. I have never had anyone tell me they're closing their account after treating me like a human being deserving of respect. It's always been after a long, loud screaming match where they want to argue bank policy with me, or the annoyance of $34 fees that are assessed when they treat their account like a high-interest credit card.

In conclusion, dear assclown vitriol machine, I am bloody tired of bearing the brunt of your hostility and rage. If you can't refrain from yelling at me, take a chill pill, calm your ass down, and call back later.

Ask yourself this: Does the person you are speaking with deserve to be screamed at, sworn at, and threatened because you don't like something that their employer did? Does that person deserve your verbal hate-barfing? Is that representative really the reason you're so pissed off? If the answer to any of these questions is "no," then BE NICE, YOU FUCKING DOUCHE!

Thanks for calling, have a nice day.

Interesting Phone Call of the Day

"Um, I need to ask you kind of an awkward question," says a customer. I am immediately wary.

"Ok..."

"So, if I want to, like, block my number from being shown on someone's Caller ID, which buttons do I push first? Is it star-77?"

...Uhh. While I still try to be helpful to customers with questions completely unrelated to TCF -- or banking -- in general, I'm really kind of appalled by the annoyance that some customers actually show when I politely say that I have no goddamn idea.

"Well I'm not really sure, sir. You may want to call your telephone company and ask them," I say to him.

"I don't have a phone company!" he replies.

...Is that so?

"Well," I say, confused at how he doesn't understand that if he has a phone, there is a company that bills him for using it, and that even if he's using someone else's phone, well, someone is billing someone for its use, "are you on a cell phone?"

"Yes!" he says.

"Then call your cell phone provider. They should be able to give you that information."

click.

...Well, ok.

Real quick,

I'm going to hang up on the next person that doesn't know that their COMPLETE address includes their apartment number.

Similarly, I will punch the next person to call me from a shop with eardrum-shattering bangs and scraping noises in the background.

One Good Thing #4

Today is the last day I work my current (crappy) night schedule. Starting Sunday, I work Sun-Thurs, 8-4:30am.

It will be nice to see the sun when I leave work again.

Upward and Onward

...Hopefully.

Your disgruntled author finally got her resume and cover letter together to apply for a new position here at SBLB. There are a few openings in the Reg E department, which is the department that handles disputed electronic transactions. So, if I get this job, I will be investigating customer claims, speaking with merchants and customers regarding the transactions, and maybe even going to court if I'm subpoenaed! How exciting.

Wish me luck.

I'm sure that if I get this job, my posts from Reg E could be quite fascinating, indeed.

One Good Thing #3

Today went by really fast!

Lessons in Good Phone Etiquette #3

Don't fucking swear at me.

One Good Thing #2

Today, nobody called me any names or told me that I was giving poor customer service.

Today, I cleaned out/off my desk, and recycled unnecessary paperwork that had been accumulating for the past 9 months. The only thing that still needs attention is the tower of Tupperware containers on my desk from lunches for the past week and a half.

Forrest Gump called in today, 40 or 50 times

Summary of a couple recent phone conversations:

Customer wants to cancel her automatic $50 transfer from checking into her savings account that's set to happen tomorrow, because she has a check that needs to clear and the $50 would bring her overdrawn. I tell her that it is too short of notice to stop the transfer, but since she has much more than $50 in her savings, I can just transfer $50 from savings into checking so that the balances in both accounts will remain the same. Essentially, it would achieve the desired effect because of a little creative maneuvering.

She says no, she can't do that because her savings account "isn't looking too good."

I start to explain that this just doesn't matter, that the balance in both accounts will be the same, but...

"Can I just transfer it back into the checking tomorrow, when it goes through?"

"...Yes."

Hmm.

A couple calls before that one, I ask for my caller's account number. He starts giving me the card number, of course. Our customers (this seems to be common among all bank's customer's, actually, in my experience) think that their account number and card number are one in the same, so this is not new. Annoying, because that requires me to jump to another screen really quickly while the customer is rattling off their card number as quickly as possible, but not new.

Luckily for me, this time the customer was very slow at reading, so I had time.

He listed off 12 numbers, then stopped.

This happens every so often, and I can't really be too harsh, seeing as how the last 4 numbers on the check card are printed on that holographic image and therefore kind of hard to read or notice, so I politely asked for the last 4. He repeated the 9th-12th numbers. I reminded him that there are 16 digits on a check card, and that there were 4 more after that.

Two more tries, and he got it.

Next up, I asked for his first and last name.

"My first name is Howard Johnson, my last name is Johnson."

"...Ok. Thanks, Mr. Johnson. Can you verify your address please?"

"4952 Miller Court."

"...City and state, please..."

"Oh. Minneapolis."

Whatever.

The requirement is that I get the city OR state OR zip, but I feel like it sounds weird to just ask for one of the three, so I just ask for city and state. In response, they almost always say just the city, just the state, or the city, state, AND zip, even though I didn't ask for it.

Again, whatever. Just, whatever.

He asks his balance, I tell him it's $7.01, and he asks why he can't use it. I just assume that his check card has been declined (he doesn't bother to tell me that information. Luckily after a month of being here and being exposed to non-questions and trying to figure out what they want you to do with them, it's pretty easy to figure out. It's like trying to decipher what a drunk person is saying. You work at a bar, you're probably pretty good at it. I'm pretty good at figuring out what idiots are really asking from me). I pull up the card information. It hasn't been activated.

Sigh.

Apparently the sticker on the front of the card, indictating that it's necessary to activate it before use, with the phone number to call to do so, wasn't written in the correct language, or didn't have enough pictures of naked ladies or bright enough colors on it to grab hold of the customer's attention.

No, sir, I can't activate it for you. Let me transfer you to the automated system so you can do it yourself, and here's how.

I feel bad for whoever is talking to him right now, trying to help him now that he couldn't figure out how to activate it in the automated system.

Ok, I may be a little mean in assuming that he can't figure it out, but based on our conversation? I'd say it's a pretty safe bet.

Now, going back to the card number-as-account number thing, though, I think that the wide use of check cards/debit cards is just plain confusing our customers. I do not think that this is just SBLB's customers, but more of, well, most customers under the age of 22 or so.

Long before I worked at a bank, when I was 18-19 years old and banked with Big Bank, I would call them fairly often to ask why my account was overdrawn again (yeah, yeah, I was that customer. I must be paying my karmic debt) and they would ask for my account number, which I almost never had. I would say, "I don't have that, but I do have my check card number. Can I give you that instead?"

I knew the difference.

One other thing I notice is how frequently people call and ask me "How much is on my card?" as though their card was the holder of their money, like it was a gift card. Forgetting that their account is what has the money, their card is merely one way to access the money in their account.

Whatever, I'm just being nit-picky now and sound like a giant snob.

I think I'm due for a One Good Thing post now. I'll try and rack my brain for one.

One Good Thing

So, I've started to notice (as I'm sure anyone reading this with any amount of regularity has) that, the longer I work here, the angrier and bitchier my posts are.

I'm going to attempt to change that by posting about one good work-related thing that happened to me each day.

Today, I received a 100% on my Quality analysis. That's two in a row for this month.

Bonus: I got to tell two old Southern men where the nearest steakhouse was on my smoke break. This is good because I always fantasize about giving accurate directions to out-of-towners.

No, seriously.

So that made me feel good.

Have a lovely day.

Your author finally lost it

Well.

I just got off the phone with a woman who wanted to vent her guts out about how much she hated the inconvenience of our online banking upgrade, and how our general message about enabling cookies was not good enough because, basically, it didn't specify what could be the problem with HER computer or account SPECIFICALLY.

After a bunch of whining (she also didn't like the identification process, thought it was too much. Next time I'll just give her account information to anyone who asks without bothering with all that "crap.") she finally asks for a phone number to complain about it. I tell her I can certainly get her to a supervisor, and--- she interrupts, No, she doesn't want to sit on the phone anymore. What's the direct number? I say we don't have one. We have an address where she can mail a---

HAHAHAHAHA!! She says. Mail a letter? As if I'm going to waste my time. Why don't you get me to your main office in Minneapolis.

Well, actually, you are talking to the main office in Minneapolis, I can get--

No, no, no, she says, you are just giving me a hard time. Don't give me the runaround. What is your name?

I tell her, and she ever so kindly offers me some advice: "Work on your customer service, Phonebankx!!!" and hangs up.

The problem... is that I never... ever... raised my voice... or had any kind of "tone"... or was sarcastic... never actually gave her a hard time at all... even offered to transfer her to a supervisor, but she interrupted me before I could tell her why that would be beneficial and related to her concern directly (the "supervisors" are online banking reps)...

Fucking bitch.

I'm Here to Listen

The notes in the account of the customer I just spoke with (identifying parts removed, of course):

Apparently she talks a lot, and goes negative a lot. This is not unusual for SBLB customers.

REV NO MORE FEES.

11/13/2008
DENIED FEE REV 05/15/08

11/19/2008
RVSL DENIED 5/21/08

11/19/2008
DENIED FEES 6373

07/09/2008
CUST IS VERY RUDE, WLDN`T ALLW ME TO TALK OR EXPLN WHY ACCT IS NEG

07/17/2008
CUSTOMER VERY RUDE WILL NOT ALLOW U SPEAK AND HUNG UP WHEN TO QUE TO GET SUPERVISOR, SUPERVISOR WAS IN QUE PICKED UP RIGHT AWA NO NEED FOR CUSTOMER TO HAVE HUNG UP

07/17/2008
DENIED FEE REV
NO MORE


She talked for exactly 8 minutes and 57 seconds, explaining every transaction that occured to bring her negative. I'm trying to be better about my habit of interrupting customers who don't know how to be clear and concise with their explanations or requests, so I STFU and waited. The problem with doing this, I have noticed, is that if you don't interrupt them, they keep talking, as long as they possibly can, until they've said out loud every single word that they know.

Anyway. 5 minutes later, she pauses long enough for me to say about 15 words in response, because naturally, I knew what the problem was that she was describing after the first sentence she uttered and wanted to clear up the misunderstanding.

After my 15 or so words, she disagrees and spends the next almost 4 minutes explaining why, and then ends with, "Finally, someone at SBLB who knows how to talk to customers. I'm going to go into the branch to get this straightened out."

...

Well, glad I could be of service.

Requirements to Open an Account at SBLB

1. Must have limited to no knowledge about bank accounts or how they work
2. Must be illiterate, at least during the times when it would be beneficial to read things like terms and conditions, or statements, or any other correspondence from the bank
3. Must have severe attitude problem
4. Must agree to only call bank when one of the following applies:

-While on cell phone in an area without good recption
-Screaming baby in background
-With a complicated problem while being in a hurry
-Without any account information whatsoever
-In a really bad mood

5. Customer required to be unaware of their complete address
6. Must be under the impression that knowing their own social security number means that they can get any information they want or need from the bank
7. Must be able to talk for 7 minutes straight, repeating his or herself several times while asking questions to the call center rep without allowing them to answer.

Apply within.

How Not to Talk to Me on the Phone

I'm aware that this blog is turning into a giant daily rant, but whatever.



This is what NOT to do when you call a bank with a problem (paraphrased from an earlier call today):



"Hi, um, my name is Suzie Smith and I ordered this thing off this informercial like a retard and they charged me and that was fine, and then it overdrew me, which was fine, I paid it, but then they kept charging me and now I don't know what to do because I ordered it off the infomercial and I tried to call them with the number that you all gave me, and they wouldn't answer, I just kept talking to this robotic person but no real human ever came on and so I don't know what to do, because I don't even know why they're charging me, but they did it again, and I don't know what to do. The first charge is ok but I don't know why they keep charging my card--"



Me: "Ok! We can dispute the charges. Which charge is the one that you authorized?"


"Well, they charged me the one time, but when I tried to call them, no one ever answered, I could never get a hold of anybody there, and they just kept charging me, and I don't know why, so I don't know what to do now because you guys keep charging me overdraft fees when they charge me. I don't know why they're still charging me, I should have never ordered anything off the TV. I just keep getting these overdraft--"



Me: "THAT'SFINEWECANDISPUTETHETRANSACTIONSANDTHEOVERDRAFTFEES WHICHCHARGEISTHEAUTHORIZEDONEPLEASE?"



"Well I don't really remember I mean they just kept doing it so I don't really know, I mean, it was like 2 months ago I think? Maybe--"


You get the idea.

Raindrops on Windows and Whiskers on Kittens

One of my favorite things in the whole wide world is when I get a phone call from a customer who is calling from a car, all the windows rolled down, music blaring, and 3 other passengers also yelling into their own cell phones.

It's even better if the cell phone has terrible reception and the caller speaks little to no understandable english.

It makes me especially happy if this happens several times a day.

Useless Knowledge

Working at SBLB has turned me into a dictionary of completely useless information. I know all kinds of weird details about things that don't matter to anyone else but me, yet I feel compelled to share them with people, to prove that I know these things that no one else knows. It's just that I am quite certain that I'm never going to have the opportunity to, say, be at a party where someone runs into the room, shouting desperately, "Quick! I need Chicago's area code, STAT!" And I come to the rescue, standing up, announcing, "Worry no more. The area code you are looking for is 773." This would be met with looks of gratitude, possibly applause, maybe even free beer, and exclaimations like, "Wow! That's amazing! How did you know?! What ELSE do you know, Phonebankx?!"

Then I will graciously bestow my knowledge upon the Little People, so that they, too, may benefit from its power.

I will tell them that Mastercard account numbers or card numbers always start with a 5, and that Visa always starts with a 4.

I will tell them that...

...

Really, are those two nuggests of knowledge the only things I would have to share with the laymen? That's even more pathetic than I thought.

Thanks for Calling Your Girlfriend, How Can I Help You?

Me: Thanks for calling, my name is phonebankx, can I have your account number please?

Caller: Uh, where do I find that?

Me: It's the second set of numbers on your check, or in the upper right-hand corner of your statement.

Caller: Do I have to go into a branch for that?

Me: ...Umm. I can also look it up with your card number. Do you have that?

Caller: It's in my car.

Me: I'm sorry, I'm only able to give account information with your account number or card number.

Caller: But do you love me?

Me: ...

...AHAHAHAAHAHAA!!!



I have the coolest boyfriend ever.

Invasion of the Republicans

I'm used to standing outside my building on smoke breaks and seeing dreadlocked farmers-market-goers, tattooed and pierced joggers, and bicyclists all over the place. Today I went to my usual smoking area and saw instead generic, suited-up businessmen exiting large shuttle busses and hailing taxis, snot-nosed trust fund college kids scoffing at the locals, and an influx of black Suburbans and Yukons.

I'm a little unnerved at all the activity, the snipers that are just barely visible on surrounding rooftops, the sudden discomfort I feel discussing left-leaning politics out loud in front of the smug-looking passers-by... the Twin Cities, while a good-sized metropolitan area, is not really what I would think of as a huge attraction for people like the RNC-goers. I find the decision to bring it here to be rather interesting and a bit confusing, but then again, what do I know?

I have one more smoke break before my workday is over. If I see any drunken Republican sex scandals occur outside the hotel next door, you'll be the first to know.

I guess all call centers really are the same

Me: "Thank you for calling SBLB, can I have your account number please?"

Crochety Old Man: "1234567890."

Now, I typed in the number and wasn't able to pull up an account. I asked him if it was a checking or savings account, or possibly a CD, which I hadn't considered at first.

COM: "It's a CHECKING ACCOUNT."

Me: "I'm sorry, I'm unable to pull up an account with that number. Let me repeat it to you..."

COM: "YES THAT'S MY ACCOUNT NUMBER! IT'S MY CHECKING ACCOUNT AND IT'S
OPEN! OF COURSE THERE'S NOTHING COMING UP, THERE'S ALWAYS A PROBLEM!"

Me: "I'm sorry, Sir, is it possible that you're looking at an old checkbook from a closed account? I'm not able to pull up anything in my system."

COM: "IT'S NOT A CLOSED ACCOUNT! YOU FIX THIS PROBLEM, YOU HEAR ME?! FIX IT!!!"

Me, desperately resisting the urge to disconnect the call: "I'm sorry, SIR, the account is not coming up. Perhaps if you have a recent statement, I could pull it up with the number on there."

I suggest this thinking that he was wrong, and that he really had read from an old checkbook.

COM: "FINE."

There is some shuffling, he comes back, and reads me the exact same account number.

Me: "I'm really sorry, sir, I am not--"

COM: "YOU FIX IT!"

At this point my patience is wearing quite thin, and I am growing increasing frustrated with being yelled at and ordered around. My tone, as you can imagine, is no longer pleasant.

Me: "I CAN NOT 'FIX' this problem, SIR. If the number you gave me is an open and active account, I would be able to pull it up. Unfortunately I am not able to pull yours up, so it is not a valid account number."

COM: "YEAH! tHAT'S WHAT YOUR WORTHLESS AUTOMATIC PHONE THING SAID! INVALID OR SOME NONSENSE."

Me: "Do you have a check card for the account?"

COM, shuffling as he searches for it and continues to bitch about the bank: "I can't believe this bank. I just made a deposit at your bank, and let me tell you, Big Bank is the SLOWEST bank I've ever--"

Me, steam coming out of my ears: "THIS IS SBLB, NOT BIG BANK!!!"

COM: "Yeah. My check card number is 1234-5678-9012-3456."

Me: "THIS IS NOT BIG BANK! YOU ARE CALLING SBLB!"

COM, still not getting it: "WELL? YOU GOT IT UP THERE?!"

Me: "WE ARE SBLB, NOT BIG BANK!!! CALL BIG BANK! YOU CALLED SBLB!!!"

COM, apparently angry with ME for working for the wrong bank: "Well THAT would be the problem then!!"

Me: "YES IT WOULD CERTAINLY BE THE PROBLEM!! ANY OTHER QUESTIONS?!"

He gave some unintelligible grunts and hung up.

Lessons in Good Phone Etiquette #2

Wait until your baby stops wailing before calling me. If it does start wailing while you are on the phone with me, either apologize to me and hang up, or tell someone to watch it while you go to a quieter room. You suck if you think I should not care that my eardrums are being split and I can't even hear myself think, let alone hear what you're asking me. Just because you're now immune to it doesn't mean the rest of us are.

One More Time...?

"What is the last deposit you see in my account?"

July 21 for $1,281.00.

"No way. No way. There aren't any after that?"

No, ma'am, there are not.

"Are you sure? My husband should have gotten paid. Was there a deposit on July 31st?"

NO, Ma'am, there have not been any deposits since July 21st.

"My husband deposited his payroll check last Friday! Are you sure it hasn't posted?!"

No. It. Has. Not. Posted. There. Have. Been. NO. Deposits. Since. The. 21st.

"Look on the 31st. Anything? Like, around $1000?"

Yes! Ding Ding Ding!

Whew! Most people don't catch on to that game we play here; You have to ask us the question you want the answer to 5 times before we'll tell you the correct answer. You win! No... wait, that's not right... you get $306 in overdraft fees*, since YOUR FUCKING DEPOSIT DIDN'T POST, like I JUST TOLD YOU 5 TIMES.

*of course, like any good phone banker, I explained to the nutter customer how to properly go about getting the necessary information from this elusive deposit so that we could file a research claim to get it back, and once it was found, the fees would, naturally, be reversed as a bank error. I'm not a jerk or anything, gosh.

Lessons in Good Phone Ettiquette #1

If you're getting shitty cell phone reception, hang up and find a better place from which to call me. Simply shouting whatever it is I didn't catch because of how badly you're breaking up certainly isn't going to solve anything.

People Say the Darndest Things!

Heard, today, while telling a cranky woman that she had to go into a branch to change her name to her preferred "Ginny" over "Virginia" on her statement:

"Well. That's just insane. My Beemer is in the shop, and if you think I'm walking there, uh-uh. It's way too humid for that. I just can't believe the inconvenience!"

I think this "Beemer" owner probably hung up feeling relieved, as she had more than likely been waiting for such an opportunity to let someone know that she was, in fact, finally an owner of those coveted BMWs for some time, and that that alone was reason enough to treat her as though she were presenting herself to be some kind of respectable human being. I don't think I would have heard: "My Toyota Corrola is in the shop; I can't make it to the branch. You're all a bunch of incompetent assclowns."

...Which reminds me of a joke:

Q: What is the difference between a porcupine and a BMW?
A: The porcupine has its pricks on the outside.

The Meaning of Words and How to Listen to Them

One recurring annoyance here at SBLB is our customers' lack of reasonable listening skills.

Since we are servicing our customers over the phone and are therefore unable to verify their identity with a photo ID, we must compensate using other methods of identification. For SBLB, the information we require is the customer's full name, full address, and last 4 digits of their social security number.

For some people, this is very complicated.

Once the caller gives their account number, I have all of their account information up on the screen in front of me. I now ask them to verify it for me.

"May I have your first and last name, please?" I ask.

"Natalie, N-A-T-A-L-I-E, Smith, 'S' like Sam, 'M' like Mary, 'I' like Ig--"

"Thank you Ms Smith, I can see your name here, I just needed you to verify it. Now can you please verify your FULL address?"

"Oh, ok. 4231 Imadumbass Lane."

"...And the city, state, zip code, and apartment number, please..."

"Oh. Milwaukee. Apartment B2."

Whatever, I think, because that's allowed, according to our policy.

This happens several times a day. I've thought of keeping a tally, but it would be too exhausting. I just wonder, when I say SO clearly and deliberately put a lot of emphasis on the word "full," why so many people either can't hear, or actually think that their full address does not include their city, state, and zip code. And their apartment number!

Let's not forget the constant spelling of names. I want to tell them all to STFU because I'm looking at it, and what do they think, that we type it in each time they call? Why even ask for the account number? But I say nothing because before I worked in a call center, I would do the same damn thing anytime I called any company.

BUT, there are weird ones. Like, for example, Taquanisha Jones calls in and tells me her first name is Taquanisha and her last names is Jones, J-O-N-E-S. As though I should know how to spell an uncommon and unique first name, but be totally clueless as to how to spell one of the most common names in the US.

(I haven't really talked to someone with that specific name, but that happens a lot, you get the idea.)

Or, when someone says and spells their entire name for me so freaking fast that they'd be insane to think that anyone actually typing it would have not only heard, but typed it all in that time period.

I guess as customers, we don't often think of these little nuances or irritating things that we do, or don't do, or how we just don't listen. I certainly hadn't, until I started encountering them 20, 30, 100 times a day.

Sigh.

She's Back; or, Capitalism Sucks

Well, it sure has been a while since I've updated this blog. I admit, it was due to my annoyance and lack of patience for Blogger's new Google thing, and I actually couldn't get into the site. I seemed to have it figured out now.

I don't have much to report, other than I'm still at SBLB and it is still dull and I still get customers every day like the ones described in the most recent post, and I'm not promoted yet because I haven't bothered looking for anything else. You know, exactly how I would have predicted.

So, the other day, I got to take 4 or so hours off the phone to attend a class called "Keys To Success," which I didn't rememebr signing up for but was thrilled about being scheduled for nonetheless. You see, even 5 unscheduled minutes off the phone is like a summer vacation, so imagine my joy after seeing 4 hours of something that claimed to help me be successful!

Turns out the class was just a deceptively named training on how to give good customer service, unfortunately taught by... Karen.

Sigh.

Whatever, though, I was still off of the phone, so I was having a good time.

However, during one point in our downtime where we managed to get Karen off track somehow, she was talking about how she takes calls every so often and once got a call from a man who had hundreds of thousands of dollars with SBLB in several accounts. The gentleman had accidently used the wrong check card and overdrew one of his smaller accounts and received 5 NSF fees. He called to see if he could get them reversed. Karen said that she could see the error, and it was too bad, and he obviously had more than enough money to cover his charges. Oops!

I asked her if she was able to reverse any of the fees. She proudly said yes, she was able to reverse all but one. She was missing my point, though. To be able to reverse all but one of 5 fees would require getting approval to go above and beyond what was already considered the exception. My response, which fell on deaf ears with the exception of one guy in the class, was, "I wish we could do that for our poor customers."

I mean, honestly. Oh, you poor rich guy, you goofed up and used the wrong card. Let me make a special exception and give you some money. You, terrible poor person who is on Social Security, you have 5 overdraft fees because someone you trusted wrote you a bad check and it bounced and your other checks posted afterward and we not only didn't pay them, but also charged you $34 per item. No, sorry, I can't reverse anything for you because we already reversed $17 in fees for you 5 and a half months ago. Pay us back before 30 days passes or your account is closed. Yeah, that does suck that you can't feed your kids or pay rent. Anything else I can help you with today?

Now, don't get me wrong, I understand that we are a corporation, a business, and not a non-profit organization. Banks need to make money. Banks do operate under ethically questionable practices, but either way, we spell it out loud and clear. Ever read your bank account's terms and conditions? I recommend it. It's utterly fascinating. However, I think there is something fundamentally wrong with the mentality that we should be punishing poor people and being sympathetic to and rewarding rich people.

But hey, the rich people would never be able to make money if it weren't for the oppressed poor. I sure hope I can do that someday.

I hope the sarcasm of the last sentence was apparent.

I think I'll go home and drink enough boxed wine to put me to sleep so I can come back and do this again tomorrow.

The Short Bus of the Banking World

Life at SBLB has been fairly uneventful, now that I've been doing my "real" job for a week now.

One thing I know I’ve touched on in past posts is how apparently unintelligent the average SBLB customer is. If there was any way that I may have just been getting the bad calls of the day and that maybe the theory wasn’t true, that has been shot down in the past week alone.

I got one customer who saw a $9 charge on her account, on the last day of her statement cycle. This was a fee put on the account by SBLB, for non-SBLB ATM charges. The fee is $3 per ATM transaction. The total amount of charges are put on the account on the last day of the statement cycle.

As I explained this to my customer, she grew increasingly more impatient and disbelieving as the call dragged on. She insisted that we had already charged her, “That’s why you took out $21.50 that one time when I took out $20! You already GOT my fee! You all trying to RIP ME OFF!”

I patiently explained to her, once more, that that was the fee charged to her by the company or bank that owns the ATM that she used, and that the $3 charged by SBLB was put onto her account TODAY, instead of immediately afterward. And not only that, but the ATM she used told her that their fee was in addition to any that HER BANK may also charge her.

“I KNOW I SEEN THIS ALREADY ON MY ACCOUNT! YOU PEOPLE TRYING TO FUCKIN’ STEAL MY MOMEY! I KNOW MY FRIENDS BE HAVIN’ THIS PROBLEM WITH Y’ALL AND NOW IT’S HAPPENING TO ME TOO!”

“I’m sorry for the confusion, Ma’am. I know it’s confusing to see the three charges together in one day, a few days or weeks after you used the ATM, but this is how it works…”

I went into it again, explaining what had happened.

She resumed her screaming.

“Would you like to speak with my supervisor about this matter?” I am not supposed to offer a supervisor to a customer, ever, but in this case, I think it was more than appropriate.

“NO I DON’T WANT TO SPEAK TO YOUR FUCKIN’ SUPERVISOR! I WANT YOU TO GIVE ME MY DAMN MONEY BACK!”

“HOLD PLEASE!”

I just transferred her.

Fuck that.

As awesome as that call was, I think the best last week may have been the early-20-something guy who called in, with over $500 in Non-Sufficient Funds fees.

“Look. I want to keep banking with you, I really do. So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m willing to go ahead and deposit the money I spent into the account, pay back what I owe you all, but I am going to need these fees reversed.”

Uh, okay. Thanks for your consideration.

I look, and, shockingly, I’m able to reverse $135 worth of his fees. I tell him this, and His Highness is not impressed.

“Look, I told you I really want to keep banking with you. I’m just not paying these fees. I mean, this is a little ridiculous. I need these all reversed, or I’m just going to go bank somewhere else. I told you I’ll pay the money I owe, so take off all the fees.”

Okay. Well, it’s apparent that we’ll be losing a very fine customer if we don’t reverse all of his fees for what was an obvious case of Not Paying The Fuck Attention, instead of Oopsie Oversight I Need To Pay Rent Please Help Me, the kind that I really want to reverse but somehow never can.

He continues on with his insistence that he not pay any fees, assuming that SBLB exists to give him access to hundreds of dollars that don’t exist on good faith alone, so I tell him that’s fine, don’t pay us. Your account will just go into collections.

I am still new enough that I say this in a very pleasant and polite manner. No, really.

He says that’s fine, he laughs a bit, and I hear noises in the background that sound like his frat boy friends getting a good chuckle out of the situation.

“That doesn’t bother me at all. It’ll be off my credit in 7 years.”

”All right. Anything else I can help you with today, SIR?”

“Nope. You seem like a nice girl. Sorry I have to do this. Have a nice day.”

Oh, you patronizing fuck. Burn in hell with your uninformed and completely ignorant attitude. Because your decision not to pay us does not affect me in the slightest, and it barely affects SBLB. We’ll just sell your debt to a collection agency and THEY will bug you for the next 7 years, while SBLB happily forgets about you because while we may not have made all of our money in fees we’ve charged, we’ll surely make what you owe us in actual charges, plus some, from the collection agency. Have fun evading the creditors. I know how fun that is.

Christ Almighty. The people I talk to… Now, I may not be the most financially responsible person on earth, but damn, I sure do feel better about myself after talking to some of these people.

Shit Finally Goes Sour, and The War of Pretension on the Morning Commute

My most recent description of SBLB as a great place to work thus far, with nicer customers and an overall better work environment has proven to be exactly what I feared it would as I typed the words: A terrible jinx I knowingly put on myself.

Today started like any other, spending the first half hour in our office chairs in a lazy and distracted circle around our new trainer (Karen’s boss) while she droned on about something I fail to recall, and then telling us to “go get ‘em!” on the phones. I took call after call, and around call number 22, I finally got a customer who said what I was wondering if anyone would say:

”This is just unacceptable. I’ve started banking with Big Bank, and they are just so much better. SBLB doesn’t know the first thing about customer service. Big Bank would do this for me. I can’t believe you won’t Fed Ex a replacement debit card for my daughter in Ireland. What is wrong with you people?! And Big Bank would never charge me for using a different bank’s ATM. This is absurd. I’m closing all my accounts. What, you can’t close it over the phone?! I HATE SBLB!!”

To her credit, Big Bank would Fed Ex a replacement debit card to a foreign country, if the banker had a sympathetic supervisor to approve it. And I could close accounts over the phone if certain requirements were met… but ATM fees? Come on now.

Anyway.

The worst part of the day was when I raised my hand for a “helper” to come over and look over some paperwork I had filled out regarding some account maintenance I had completed. Every question I asked was met with, “We do not need to explain this to the customer.” “It doesn’t matter.” “I don’t know the answer. Just tell them this, again.” “I don’t train that up here.” Then the incredibly frustrating incident where I had left required notes on an account after reversing an overdraft fee, manually typing in the customer’s account number into the appropriate system, and Alicia, the helper who saw me first, told me to go back and check if the notes had posted correctly. Assuming I had copied the account number I was notating, I pasted the number into the field and hit enter. A different account came up, showing no notes. I immediately realized the problem and was about to go in and type in the correct account number that I had notated, but Alicia freaked.

“No! Don’t do that! Just type in the account number over here, and delete the notes you left in the wrong account!” She grabbed for my mouse, which for some reason makes my skin crawl and starts a bubble of irrational fury well up in my chest, ready to attack the offending hand of Alicia. Luckily, I refrained. I hate when people try to takeover my damned mouse.

“No, Alicia, I left notes in the correct account. I typed it in, and didn’t realize when I went to check—“

”Just do this for me PLEASE.”

I do as she asks, and am proven right. She still doesn’t trust what I say (or rather, didn’t say, since she wouldn’t let me explain what happened) and tells me to type in the other account number. I say no, I type in the accidental one showing no notes, and then the correct one, showing the correct notes that I placed. She doesn’t even offer an apology.

This reminds me of several incidents at Big Bank where, upon being presented with a particularly difficult or challenging customer issue, I would call the Help Desk. 4 out of the 6 Help Desk bankers would often tell me that I ask too many questions that are insignificant, that the customer would never ask, anyway. This was usually their way of telling me that they didn’t know the answer to my question and were too lazy to use their resources (that I was told I wasn’t allowed to know about) to find out what needed to be done.

I ended up secretly accumulating several pieces of vital information during my year and a half at Big Bank that enabled me to avoid calling the Help Desk whenever possible when the issue required a system or phone number that only they had access to. With careful watching of keyboard strokes to see a password to a forbidden-to-lowly-phone-bankers system or web addresses of the “supervisor/helpdesk only” intranet site that detailed untold explanations of various policy and procedure, or utilizing my curious ability to quickly and accurately memorize random sequences of numbers to acquire more forbidden phone numbers to areas within the bank we were told didn’t actually exist, I amassed lists and lists of treasure, which I eventually spread out among my favorite coworkers upon my departure from Big Bank.

My view is that this should not have been necessary. I understand the need to provide customer service representatives with a basic role and not give too much responsibility or trust everyone with information that requires discretion, but to lie to me and the rest o the phone bankers about the existence of such things seems unethical.

I am beginning to realize that I am not a person cut out for convential employment. It's apparent that I want to know too many details about apparently irrelevant topics, that I am too quick to determine my superiors to be incompetent morons, and a bit too predispositioned have a bad attitude about whatever it is that I am paid to do, deeming me unfit for promotion.

I must quickly acquire the necessary motivation to beome my own employer.

As I went outside to have a cigarette on my first 15-minute break of the day, fuming over how I was fuming about something I expected to happen when I should keep a positive attitude about it all and just suck it up for a while, a 30-something woman smoking next to me started discussing the weather. There is a digital clock and temperature display on the outside of our tower, which is reflected in the building across the street, and the current temperature displayed backward seems to be the main source of conversation among the smokers, who otherwise would stand next to each other, puffing away in awkward silence.

“Looks like we finally hit a warm spell!” (The digital display read 1 degree.)

I agree, because it’s true, it feels much warmer today than it has the previous few days. She says that without the wind, it’s not so bad at all. On a whim, I tell her about a passage in a book I was reading on the bus this morning, where the author, living in Chicago, describes a summer day where the humidity and warmth seem to reach the rare Midwestern agreement, creating a beautifully comfortable day. I say this is similar to winters here, where the cold isn’t nearly as bad if the wind didn’t have to sneak up on you and freeze your face off.

Unfortunately, my attempt at conversation outside of the socially acceptable Weather Box that is the topic of nearly all conversations with strangers or acquaintances in this state falls on deaf and perplexed ears. She looks at me, surprised for a short moment, and starts a story that you can tell she was dying to share about her recent family reunion up North, where it was so cold that they weren’t allowed to hold their annual tubing activities outdoors as they always had.

I realize I have heard this story before, almost verbatim, as though she had rehearsed it or told it too many times throughout the week, because she was the random woman who told it to me on my smoke break yesterday morning, only she obviously doesn’t realize that I am the same person. I act and respond as though I did not already know that, upon being told there was no tubing that night, the family traipsed into the resort bar to warm up by way of root beer liqueur shots.

I wonder if she’ll tell me the same story, after breaking the ice with observations about the expected “heat wave” that is said to be occurring tomorrow, when I see her on my first break. Maybe by then she’ll realize that she’s already told all of the employees in the building and must move on down to Big Bank’s tower a few blocks down to share her too-cold-to-tube story with new ears.

The thing about where I work is that it's directly downtown, where I commute via bus caught at the local park and ride location, surrounded by sleepy working professionals with iPods and books and forbidden cups of gas station coffee that the bus driver graciously turns a blind eye to as we board. Although attempting to observe proper bus etiquette and avoid staring at fellow passengers, I can't help but steal quick glances at random people: their book titles, their newspaper of choice, their facial expressions, the way their heads jerk around as they accidentally fall asleep in the early-morning darkness. Most are wearing wedding rings, many women engagement rings, and most look patiently accepting of the long workday ahead of them. Their books are often fiction novels written by John Grisham or, in the case of a bold woman I noticed, Danielle Steel. The back of the bus is where you will usually find the more pretentious readers, in requisite Buddy Holly glasses, paging through worn-looking copies of books whose author is unfamiliar to me, occasionally glancing around to see who is paying attention to their choice of reading material.

On my third or fourth day riding the bus, I had a conversation with somebody about acceptable books to take with me. In the spirit of poking fun at the snobbery that runs amok in the back of the bus, we looked at the bookshelf, trying to find the most pretentious (and more than likely as of yet unread) book on the shelf. War and Peace? Nah, too obvious. Complete Idiot's Guide to Paganism? Got a good laugh, but deemed too likely to cause potential physical harm. Same goes for Complete Idiot's Guide to the Koran. How about The Jewish Mystique? No, no books about religion. Too controversial, likely to cause stares and provoke feelings of discomfort among the assumed sheltered suburbanites and soccer moms.

Simply bring along my iPod as an understandable copout was out of the question, as the stupid thing just broke, so I opted to just buy the paper every morning, as I had been doing already, to do the Times crossword. That is pretentious enough in itself; if it's a Monday or Tuesday, I'm like to complete the puzzle, which would make me look bookish and intelligent in a quiet, modest sort of way to the pretentious book snobs.

I win.

And So It Begins

Today is the third day of our real-life, on-the-phones training upstairs in the special training area, with our trainer, her boss, and two "experienced" call center representatives wandering around to help us with whatever problems we may encounter.

I was looking forward to this week after Hour One of classroom training, after coming to the realization that being read to by a 61-year-old woman out of a seemingly endless training manual in a dark and noisy basement, a half-assed storage room for IT equipment turned temporary training room, for two weeks straight was going to prove to be less than fascinating.

Admittedly, I had a bit too much to drink the Thursday night before the final classroom training day, during which we were to take our "final test," and called in sick Friday. Aside from waking up at 5:30am still drunk and quite belligerent, I also didn’t think I could sit through one more day in that classroom, so I utilized the company’s fairly liberal attendance policy and left two messages, one on the attendance hotline voicemail and one on the trainer’s, feigning illness. Turns out I didn't miss much, just more speakerphone calls and three hours of a test. When I came back Monday to choruses of "Are you feeling better?" I got to take the test alone, at Karen's desk.

It took me 2 hours, and this was after I went over and over each answer. When I finally turned it into Karen, she looked at my like I was loony and reminded me that I still had an hour left to take the test, and to please go back and check over my answers. I didn't tell her I already had, and decided to use the extra time to sit around, not taking calls, because even though I was excited to be done with classroom training, I also knew enough to understand that I would long for the days of sitting idly in a cube, staring at a computer screen without a phone attached to my head.

I scored 94% on the test. Apparently this was quite a feat, and I was one of only a few trainees to achieve this high a score.

Our on-the-phones training, thus far, has proven to be, dare I say, enjoyable? I don't loathe the minute that I have to log into the phones, and I have discovered that simply being incredibly kind and using a very quiet, yet clear voice in a very calm tone actually makes my customers happy, and makes me feel really good about helping them understand what's going on.

I also realized today that if I allow myself to be such a nice person on the phones during the week that Aunt Flow comes to visit and wreak havoc on my hormones, I must try desperately not to bawl when a nice-sounding recent college graduate and hopeful entreprenuer needs $80 worth of overdraft fees reversed to pay his bills that are due tomorrow, and I am only allowed to give him $50 back. Since the customers at Big Bank were self-righteous, entitled business owners with too much money and too many Southern California McMansions, I didn't care about being nice to them because 9 times out of 10, they were mean to me for no reason other than I was the unfortunate soul on the other end of the 800 number, and I didn’t give a crap if I got to reverse overdraft fees for them or not. I'd be indifferent no matter what timeof the month it was. At SBLB, customers may have significantly lower IQs than those at Big Bank, but that means that they are a thousand times happier to have a "banker" explain the ins and outs of how a check card works without being condescending, and they hang up wanting to birth your firstborn.

I can’t help but think that my current elation at the apparent simplicity and relative ease of this job will quickly diminish once I am out of training mode, but so far, so good. Only 5 more months until I am eligible for a promotion.

Role-Playing Trainwreck

One common thing that happens in call-center training classes is role-playing. While many of the trainees have probably had some call center experience in the past, there are always those who have not, and they're usually quite terrified of the idea of answering a phone call after a brief couple of weeks nodding off while listening to trainers and near-illiterate trainees read aloud from a manual. And for those of us with prior experience, it's always a good idea to get a feel for how system navigation will work while you're on a real call.

Today was role-playing day at SBLB.

Karen partnered us up and gave us each a real account number that we were supposed to pretend was ours and think of an interesting and vaguely challenging question to ask.

Before I go on, I want to make it clear that I do not harbor any ill will toward immigrants or people whose first language is not English. I do, however, think that if I were a recent immigrant whose English skills were not too great, that I would try to find employment in an area that did not require eight hours of constant telephone conversations and script-reading, at least until I was more confident in my fluency of the country's primary language.

This guy is going to be cussed out on a regular basis. Abrafo's partner, Donald, asked very simple questions ("What is my balance in my checking? What is my balance in my savings? Do I have any kind of overdraft protection?")

It took Abrafo over 20 minutes to answer these questions. He placed his "customer" on hold 5 different times. Donald had to repeat each of his account numbers 2-3 times for Abrafo.

Most everyone else's role-playing went fine, really. Of course each of us had minor issues navigating the unfamiliar system while trying to remember proper scripting and whatnot, but overall, it went fairly smoothly. It was clear, however, that, with the exception of Jeanette and I, not many of us are comfortable enough with banking terminology and strict regulations to start taking calls as soon as tomorrow.

Which, unfortunately, is exactly what's going to be happening.

This seems a very ludicrous, if not outright insane, idea. We will be taking these calls on speakerphone, using the projector screen to see the account we are to be servicing.

SPEAKERPHONE.

This means that everyone in the room, all 9 of the other people, will not be allowed to so much as sneeze during any calls. I asked how this could possibly be a good idea when almost everyone knows when they're put on speakerphone and hates it. What happens when the already angry caller asks, "Am I on speakerphone?!" The answer to that is, according to Karen, lie to the customer. Say that you are having phone problems, apologize, and continue servicing the call. What happens when someone is about to make a blatant and disastrous error and half the class says, "No! Click the OTHER button!!"

"Oh... that won't happen."

Er... okay. Sure. Because I really trust my gutter-minded, lack of internal censorship, constantly chattering fellow trainees to STFU during other people's calls. I'm sure I'll have all sorts of great stories about the impending disaster tomorrow.

Almost There

At SBLB, we are issued a very large training manual, which is said to contain all information necessary to enable us to properly deal with our customers. This manual is comprised of about a dozen sections containing detailed information on how to complete various transactions and maitenence on customer accounts. It's thicker than both of the Bibles I own, although I guess that's not a very accurate comparison since the manual is standard-weight paper with wider margins and--

Okay, what?

Anyway, since there is no really good and/or effective way to learn this information interactively without boring the shit out of the trainees while simultaneously catering to each of our nine individual learning styles, they just don't bother trying to do so. Our trainer, Karen, a 61-year-old woman who has been in the banking industry for over two decades, reads aloud to us. Each page of the manual, word for word.

Needless to say, when I occasionally look around the room, it is not uncommon to see four of the nine of us with droopy heads and closed eyes, sleeping soundly to the constant drone of Karen's shrill voice.

When I was at Big Bank, we'd have each trainee read a section aloud and discuss the information as necessary. This is essentially no different, as you're still being read to the majority of the time, but at least it varied a bit. And if you were especially bored that day, you could just volunteer to read a lot. Furthermore, at Big Bank, most of my fellow trainees were intelligent, articulate people who were both comfortable with and competent at reading out loud.

Here, at SBLB, two of the trainees speak a language other than English primarily and if I didn't read along with them when it was their turn, I would have no idea what they were saying. It's not that their accents were too difficult to understand, because they were fairly well-spoken, but when reading a language other than your native one from fifteen feet away while simultaneously trying to comprehend the material, it's common for these two trainees (whose names Karen still can't pronounce) to say something like "translate" instead of "transaction"while reading.

Then there are a couple of the other trainees who, obviously having spoken English throughout their entire lives, read choppily and can't pronounce words more than 7 letters long, or misread a comma to be a period and screw up the entire paragraph and make it even more difficult to understand. It's reminiscent of high school and the lack of literacy that runs rampant in an inner-city public school system.

So, imagine my relief and utter joy when we finished the last page of the book this afternoon.

Now we're on to more hands-on learning on our computers, looking up and servicing "test accounts."

This would be fine, if it weren't for Karen having apparently touched a computer for the first time somewhere around late 2006, asking me if I was sure I double-clicked on a link when the system I was logging into was taking longer than usual to respond. I didn't bother telling her that you don't need to double-click on a link, and that you don't have to move your mouse to the scroll bar if you have a scroll button on your mouse.

Three more days left, then on to the phones, where we take calls with a few other trainers and supervisors/helpers assisting us.

I never thought this would come out of my mouth, but I cannot wait to get on the phones.

Call Center Slut

When I worked for a fairly popular photo lab/camera store in my teens and into my early twenties, I noticed that the majority of my coworkers in the lab portion of the store had either already worked for a different photo lab, or left to accept a job at a different one. We were Photo Lab Sluts. There seemed to be no other job we could do, or were brave enough to do. We were lazily content with our 8-hour days of printing 100 rolls of strange, useless, and sometimes pornographic customer film, boxing it up, and selling it back to them. We were accustomed to re-doing multiple prints because "the sky doesn't look blue enough, I swear it was way bluer when I was there," and politely not making eye contact with the "gentleman" who came in once a week with multiple rolls of film of his elderly girlfriend peeing on fire hydrants. We didn't know how to do anything else and were terrified of venturing into other lands, like places with offices, or, god forbid, freelancing with no promise of a weekly paycheck.

People in the lab that I worked in were sometimes there full-time and spent their free time drinking with employees from other labs in the district (like me), or they were also students at prestigious art schools, majoring in photography (also me, a few years later). The funny thing was, the people that graduated from these schools didn't bother looking for better employment afterward. Some people had masters degrees in photography or art or art history, and contentedly spent their days as a lab rat, making no more than $9.00/hr. No one wanted to join the real world and use their degrees, even though $9.00/hr wouldn't pay for half of their student loans after the grace period (do you know how expensive art schools are?!).

The same can be said for call centers.

In either of the two centers I've worked in, there were at least a couple fellow trainees that were call center veterans. They'd worked for a computer company in their help desk department, for a different bank, perhaps a check company, maybe even a short stint as a telemarketer.

In my current class, there are two of us. Whereas I worked for Big Bank, Jeanette worked for Other Big Bank, in their call center. Another of our fellow trainees (Near Retirement Laid-Off Stereotype) worked for another large financial institution in their call center, specializing in stocks and bonds.

It seems that Our Type just can't get enough.

We are the Call Center Sluts.

Jeanette and I often trade battle stories on smoke breaks and, for some reason, our trainer seems fascinated by the fact that two other trainees have experience with our two biggest competitors and constantly asks us questions.

"We will reverse fees relating to the new policy with the ATM deposit cut-off, because that's understandable. I bet you guys didn't reverse anything at Big Bank and Other Big Bank, though, huh?"

"I hear that Big Bank's training classes have, like, 25 people each, and the class is in a big, beautiful classroom. Is that true?"

(The answer to both questions is "no," but that's beside the point.)

Apparently, both Big Bank and Other Big Bank have reputations around SBLB.

Anyway. As hard as I try to understand why anyone would willingly subject themselves to Life in a Call Center for longer than absolutely necessary to work their way up in the company or perhaps earn "experience" in the industry the call center exists in, I think I may have figured it out.

While everyone who works in a call center and actually quits at some point declares with fervent certainty that they will "NEVER work in another call center EVER again," they realize that their experience in that call center (any call center, really) pretty much guarantees them a job in any call center ever created for the rest of their lives.

Not to mention, call centers are an incredibly structured workplace, which is favorable among some people, and since they don't expect you to enjoy your job in the slightest, they allow more absences than any other job you have ever held. Because of the high turnover in most call centers, they also pay more than $10/hr (usually more in most centers) as an incentive. For the average single 20-something, recent layoff victim, or previously under-employed single mother, this is reason enough to apply, and stay.

To backtrack a second here: Strangely, while the Powers That Be declare previous call center experience to be a plus, they fail to tell you that it really doesn't matter at all. If you are reasonably competent at speaking out loud and can form something vaguely resembling a sentence while attempting to maintain a positive voice tone, they will hire you. Nothing else matters. Call centers are so notorious for their high turnover that they can't afford to be picky. Typically, the more intelligent and ambitious the call center employee, the sooner they will go AWOL in search of greener pastures.

...Of course, there are exceptions. I like to consider myself to be one, but perhaps time will prove otherwise.

Back Into the Trenches

After 6 months away from the Land of Call Center Madness, I have decided to go back.

Before I delve into the reasons for my re-entrance into what many declare to be the worst type of job imaginable, allow me to divulge some background information:

When I was in my late teens, working in various stores in various suburban malls around my metro area for little more than minimum wage, I often thought, upon dialing an 800 number to bitch about something gone awry in my checking account or cell phone bill, that the person on the other end of the line must have the easiest job imaginable. I mean, all this bitter- and jaded-sounding person speaking condescendingly to me has to do is answer a phone all day. And I hear they get paid a lot! How do I find one of these jobs?

To my immediate horror and eventual delight my little sister got a job at a Big Bank in our area, in their call center. She, at age 18, would answer phone calls from the Bank's small business customers and service their requests pertaining to their checking and savings accounts, and also loans, lines of credit, and credit cards. She was also required to participate in what the Bank called "suggestive selling," also known as attempting to convince existing customers to saddle themselves with hundreds of thousands of dollars more debt, but she wasn't too concerned with that, seeing as how they would be starting her at what seemed like a huge wage for a kid barely out of high school: $12.27 an hour.

Needless to say, I was insanely jealous, as I was, at the time, working part time at a Big Box retailer for a measly $8.75 an hour.

Luckily for both of us, Big Bank had an employee referral program that gave her money if she referred someone to the company who stayed for 6 months. I interviewed and was hired soon after.

After 6 blissful weeks of the fun and games that made up classroom training, they sent us on our way, to our little cubicles in a cheerful, well-lit 2nd-floor call center, where we would become yet another cog in the system of suggestive selling and cold-transferring our customers into oblivion.

After a year and a half of such nonsense, I simply stopped showing up, determining unemployment and lack of any income to be far preferable to my increasing lack of sustainable mental health and quickly escalating blood pressure, not to mention increasing body mass acquired from hours of sitting on my ass, eating junk food that the call center Powers That Be practically force-fed us in order to placate us into submission.

I wasn't unemployed for long. Two weeks later, I forayed into the cutthroat world of serving at a large seafood chain and found the majority of its customer base to be extremely poor tippers and the management staff to be extremely less-than-forthright about the hours they wanted to schedule me and my fellow employees, and set off to find more stable employment in the industry I knew best, and even liked a little: Banking.

Now, I thought, "I will NEVER set foot in another call center, ever, ever again." I thought, perhaps, that I could use that year and a half of banking experience at the Big Bank to secure a job at another financial institution, where I could make sure I never had to talk on the phone, and could possibly steer clear of any customer interaction, period.

The only place that I sent my resume to that asked me for an interview was Semi-Big Local Bank (SBLB), for the Customer Service position in their call center.

I (obviously) took the job.

Today was my first day.

Like Big Bank (I will notice that many, many things here are just like Big Bank), SBLB has a training class that lasts a few weeks. Upon walking into your training class for the first time, there are many feelings that might go through your brain: Who will I be stuck sitting next to for the next month? Will this be just like school? Will I make friends? Will I be the nerdy one? Will I ask all the stupid questions? Will there be any other smokers there, or will I have to quit because I'll be lonely outside alone?

Well, I walked in this morning about 10 minutes early, and was the second person to arrive. The other trainees/new hires fit the stereotypical bunch of people that generally work in call centers:

The Recent Immigrant or two, excited about what seems to a good job opportunity that can help them with their journey to the American Dream by way of promised "internal promotion" and "advancement opportunity";

The Fucking Weirdo;

The Lower-Income Minority or three who may have a couple of children to support and are ecstatic to have gotten a job without any prior relevant experience or required college degree that pays them more than minimum wage;

The token Near Retirement Age person who, by unfortunate circumstances beyond his or her control, lost their long-term and high-paying career or business and is now forced to find employment elsewhere, and this is their last hope. You can tell them by their collective defeated look;

Three or four College-Age Kids who, upon graduating college bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, realize that their 6-month grace period on their multi-thousand dollar student loans is a week away from ending, and they still can't find job that pays more than minimum wage, so they decide to sell their souls to this financial institution, figuring they only have to do it for a couple months before their superiors determine their degrees to be sufficient reason for advancing them quickly and painlessly into a higher-paying and less soul-sucking position within the growing company.

I most closely identify with the last Stereotypical Call Center Employee, although I never actually finished that degree. I thought I could bypass that little detail by “working my way up.”

We'll see if SBLB proves to be any different.