Honolulu Lite
So I called one of the Ford dealerships to ask how to go about getting it fixed. That would seem simple enough. You make a phone call. Someone answers your question. Life goes on.
Not these days.
Instead, I got sucked into one of those voice mail mazes that inevitably lead to a dead end.
The call started off promisingly enough. A nice lady answered, and she seemed pleasant.
"I've gotten a letter recalling my truck," I said. "Who do I talk to about it?"
"You want the service department," she said. "I'll connect you."
Next I heard: "Hi, you have reached the service department. If you want to schedule an appointment, press one. If you want to check on your car, press two. If you want to talk to a service representative, press three.."
I pressed three.
"Hi, to talk to Joe Blow, press one. (Names have been changed to protect the innocent). To talk to John Blow, press two. To talk to Fred Blow, press three. ..."
I had no idea how many Blows they had working for them. It dawned on me that I could be listening to this particular line of questioning for the next few days. So I just pressed one.
"Hi, I'm Joe Blow, but I'm not at my desk right now. If you would. ..."
I hung up. I figured, I'm the customer. I bought a truck from these jokers. I shouldn't have to wait for Joe Blow to call me back to answer a simple question.
I pressed redial. The original pleasant operator answered.
"I'm sorry ma'am," I said. "But I don't know which service rep to ask for or which ones are in today. Could you just connect me to one.
She connected me.
"Hi, I'm Bill Blow, I'm not in right now. ..."
I hung up and hit redial.
"Hi. Me again. I'm sorry. There was no one at that number you connected me to. Look, I have a very simple question," I said.
"All I can do is put you through to their voice mail," she said. "I don't know who is free at this time."
"But why should I be subjected to your voice mail answering machine labyrinth?" I asked. "I just have a tiny question to be answered. I'm a customer."
A little less pleasant, she said, "I'll transfer you."
"Hi, I'm Mike Blow, I'm not ..."
I hung up and hit redial. I think she knew who was calling this time. She didn't sound to cheery. But neither did I.
"Look," I said. "I am a customer. I want to speak to a human being. Do you have any human beings there I can talk to? Anyone who breaths air? Anyone walking around? This is ridiculous. You are in business. I am a customer. I need to communicate with a human being. Don't you see? Don't you understand?"
There was a pause. She apparently punched some buttons. Soon another voice answered. A living human voice speaking in real time.
"I received a notice of recall in the mail," I said. "Do I have to bring my truck down to you folks (which, at this point, I would have rather gouged out my own eyeballs than give that service department any business) or can I just take it to the Ford outlet on this side of the island?"
"Oh, yes," the human said. "You can take it to any Ford outlet."
"Thank you," I said.
"Thank you," she said.
The entire conversation took seven and a half seconds.
What I don't understand is why the original operator felt compelled to push me down the slippery slope of technology instead of connecting me to the human being from the get-go. For a brief moment, I felt I knew what sent alleged Unabomber Ted Kaczynski over the edge. I certainly understood why he rode a bike.
