Customer service: IRL
Sometimes, as the sun glares through the misty window, and leaves break the sky up into tessellated blue, you get a strange idea that, perhaps this time, you’ll try to get your customer service from a real person. No more dialling a number, speaking to a machine, choosing from a menu for the closest thing you think applies to your bespoke query, starting the menu again because that led you to an automated message unrelated to your needs, finding the cheat code through the audio maze finally allowing you to follow automated authentication steps, mis-entering your account number twice, waiting for someone to answer to simply take that information all over again.
But outside. Where the vape shops give the high street hope of survival.
Surely, looking into the eyes of another human, you will get a more positive experience. It is true that the amount that can be fixed automatically, means the only parts left to humans, are the difficult conversations. Maybe, we can find a way to make this one more fulfilling. We may only be naming each other because they are wearing a name badge that says ‘Stephen’ Store Manager, and my name is on the screen in front of them, but this does feel like, for a moment, we are two people sharing a common mission to solve something that has caused a distress we could fix together.
Unfortunately, some brick and mortar stores in British high streets do not exist for this purpose. From the outside, as you wander by the water feature that resembles the shapes from a dream you barely remember, your mind contemplating the errand list you should have written, you spot the logo of a company of which that was one of the things you needed to sort today! The illuminated box above the glass frontage giving you a sense of hope. Not only has it reminded you of the thing to do, you could actually get it done by entering the premises.
Or. So. You. Are. Led. To.
I walked into a phone shop, let’s say it’s the Three store, because that’s what it was. I had this dream in my mind. The hope warming my insides as I’d tried to park in a multi-story car park with all the skill that is on display at a school visit to an ice rink; most people are staying close to the sides because venturing into the middle is the disaster zone.
The welcome was on the cooler side of lukewarm. An old cup of tea, left in the sun, as if that was going to help things.
Whether they wanted to or not, I explained the situation that needed the special assistance of real people, rather than the suggested version on the website. I’m not sure they were really listening, but they asked if I would sit down because I was making things look untidy. This wasn’t the exact phrase they used, but it was definitely implied by the way they said, “let’s sit down to sort things out.”
I explained the situation again, twice. The situation itself doesn’t really matter here. It didn’t matter to them either. After the pleasantries they did the one thing I realise now is completely unavoidable. They called customer services and handed me the phone. I hung the phone up and asked why I couldn’t get this sorted by them in the premises of Three by someone with a Three name badge. They looked at me like I’d taken their car keys and thrown them at a sea gull. They were clueless, powerless, friendless. Somehow employed.
Shakespeare claimed that all the world is a stage. Three must have that plastered in the staff room in the back. This whole place is theatre.
It should have always been clear to me, in the same way as when a website has a ‘help’ section that is no help and a ‘contact us’ section that desperately avoids providing this information. This is that. In real life. I had walked into the .com/help section of a company. I had made a journey that I believed had real, genuine purpose. I had a mission and I was going to get it done. This wasn’t what they wanted though, was it? I had made this whole journey as an ode to the high street and been given the wholesome experience of being watched while I spoke to someone in a warehouse. These were the real people. The people who provided the service. The employees that populated the store were there as facade.
I had walked into a place that on the surface should have given me hope. It was as if I had scaled the first peak to see there was a higher peak beyond and someone in a tent at this initial summit had given the impression that they were a guide, only to point me into a void.
I persisted with my need to resolve my issue while in the shop. I was, at minimum, going to take up space and do it in a raised tone, except when divulging personally identifiable information. The tables had turned. I was now the actor, and the staff were the audience. All the world is, truly, a stage, and this performance was exquisite. The store manager was aware of things because I had clocked him at a moment of hold music and caught his attention. As I left, I made the point to question why this had to be like this and he made the ultimate statement that haunts me.
“I don’t care. I’m just an employee.”
A true manager.1
Maybe we should have two doors to these shops. One is to the normal shop, where you can pick up an unoperational phone and play pretend with it for a bit to see if that feels nice under your fingers. The other goes to the warehouse where all the helpful people are. The normal shop has ‘just employees’ wandering about, collecting dust. The warehouse has employees+. The ones you really wanted in the first place, but hadn’t earned.
Maybe there is this other door and I never found it and, after I’d left, all the normal shop staff sniggered at my foolishness to perform the entire process over the phone when I could have just gone through the other door.
The true customer experience for a brick and mortar shop presence in a high street needs fixing. And, according to Three, that fix is:
Entry is only allowed by entering an unknown 4 digit code. You can have as many tries as possible, because you will be given clear hints that you’re heading in the wrong direction by one of the employees reading out various responses, like “I’m sorry that’s not an option, press star to return to the main menu.” Once successful you will be handed a clipboard to provide them with all the information they need to make sure that you will see the right person once entering the shop.
An ante-room. A lobby where, once you gain entry, you will be given a number in the queue, while a 4-piece band will play indistinct jazz. They occasionally stop for a person to pop in, holding an ice cream, telling you there’s no one available right now.
Sit in this room and stare at a blank wall for around 90 minutes. Do not make eye contact with the jazz-four-piece. They will send you back outside to try again.
Welcome to customer services! You will be introduced to a teenager who is happy to help and get things solved for you today. They will then ask you for your name, why you are here and you will inform them that this is on the clipboard information you gave earlier. They will inform you this has been destroyed as is the process and to provide all the information again.
Routing: on providing the full query, this teenager will helpfully point out that they can’t actually help you and you need to speak to someone else. You will be sent back into the ante room for a few minutes.
Welcome to account management! You will be introduced to a friendly lady who will ask you for the information you provided on the clipboard again. She will apologise and make it feel okay that you have been repeating this query both aloud and in your head for a number of days.
Solved! Eventually. You will spend around 55 minutes with this lady who will fully and completely resolve all your issues including some useful tips for what would make a good Mother’s Day present. On leaving you will be led into the…
Survey room! You will be handed a clipboard that looks remarkably like the one you were given at entry and asked how the service was and how they could improve things. Answer this honestly and then place it in the large mechanical bin by the door in order to exit.
Daylight has gone. As you step back onto the street, the sun has set. You are exhausted. Your problem is solved, but your soul is slightly smaller.
A future we can all look forward to. Please hold.
Maybe offering a mobile phone service is more complex than a standard retail transaction. I can go into a supermarket and feel like, the whole time, I’m allowed to be there. It’s not like mobile phones have been around since the dawn of food. So I’ll give them that. However, I would like to know how anyone becomes an employee of a place and is either employed or rises to become a manager of a store if they don’t want to do any work that might be expected. At least have their name badge reflect their true passion; observing.