Hateful Customer

I had a happy experience this week. Happy in the sense that, well, it wasn’t at all happy. As I have mentioned, I work in customer services, processing orders and dealing with myriad customer issues. I like doing my job, I take pride in it and I have said on more than one occasion that I wish to treat my customers as I would like to be treated myself (I have very high standards when it comes to being a customer). I have completed two award levels through the Institute of Customer Services (http://www.instituteofcustomerservice.com/) and coached two more people to success in the same award.

I answered a call on Tuesday from a customer who wished to speak with my employer’s sales director. Following procedure (set in place to filter cold callers etc) I directed his call to one of two other colleagues who take any requests to speak to the MD or a director, neither of whom were at their desk. Rather than dump my caller onto voicemail, I offered to take his telephone number and pass his request on so someone would call him back.

At this point he demanded to know where my organisation’s head office is (USA), their telephone number, my name and the names of the staff (the team leaders who oversee customer services) who have told me I have to try these two colleagues for calls such as his.

Unfortunately for him, due to protestors, my organisation has a no-names policy, which in my case I am not allowed to divulge my (or any colleagues’) surname. He informs me he will be telephoning my organisation’s head office to get one or both of the team leaders fired for not letting me put his call directly through to the Sales Director or the MD (whom he has now requested to speak with as well).

He then proceeds to tell me a long-winded story about how he was pressured into attending an interview with one of the armed forces way back when, how one of the interviewers (a brigadier, if I recall) said something which he took as an insult, and how to exact revenge for this slight, later called said officer a rank below that which he was. Can you say petty?

The point of my caller’s story was thus: if I can’t think for myself, and if I can’t think to ignore the instructions laid down for me then I should tell my superiors where they could stick their rules and resign.

Yes, this customer was telling me to leave my paid employment (of over five years), in this financial climate, with the daily horror stories coming out on the news about forthcoming private sector job losses, with no job to move onto, solely because he couldn’t speak to the person he wanted and because I wouldn’t (and couldn’t*) do anything about it except remain calm, listen to all he had to say without interruption and repeat my offer to have someone return his call as soon as.
I don’t think so.

If I hadn’t been so angry I’m positive I’d have been in tears. You may say, oh, what an adult reaction. Indeed, however in the time I’ve done this job, taking 150 calls a day (approximate average) I’ve cried once over awkward customers, once when I was new and a bag of nerves.

*I couldn’t because we don’t have an official receptionist so calls which would ordinarily be dealt with by that role (such as this one) are dealt with by my customer service colleagues and me. (I will iterate here that I am not a receptionist and I have a bloody good idea of what that role entails, it actually being my previous salaried role. In the call centre environment I am employed in, I have specific, measurable targets to meet.) Reception-style calls as efficiently as possible using the two staff members who filter such calls on our behalf.

A new venture

This evening sees my first social engagement in my new venture (if that's the right word for it). Long story short, I got roped into the secretarial role for a charity committee about a month ago as it is a new group raising funds in and around a nearby town. The suggested committee member was not at all keen on taking up the role (which is understandable – it's a role which needs experience in a secretarial and administrative environment and I can't say I blame her) so I was guilt-tripped into it by my beloved mater.

It's for charidee, great mate!

Tonight is the committee's launch party including an auction (having seen the lots on offer, I certainly wouldn't mind taking a shot at one or two of them myself) and frankly, I'm feeling increasingly more and more terrified.

Why? I think mainly because I'll be there in an official committee capacity and be expected to talk up the charity to strangers. I hope I might be able to put my assertiveness training into play but I've a fear words will escape me and I'll stupidly end up getting one of the other committee members to charm which ever person has just collared me.

I think I should emphasise just how much I want the launch to go well. I've been worried for a while now as the committee (through reasons I'm not going to go into here) were unable to pick the day of the launch and holding a function on a Sunday evening isn't ideal. (I'm glad I'm driving so won't have the chance to turn up for work tomorrow feeling worse for wear.)

There are (were?) fifty spaces available for guests but the last time I spoke to the chairlady she had numbers around forty. My worst idea of the evening is for people to be making speeches to a half-filled room, and us struggling to garner bids for the prizes.

You! Are you bidding? A MILLION POUNDS?! SOLD!

There you have it. I'm a worrier and right now I can't help but think of the worst possible scenario. (I mean, not apocalyptic, 'function area blowing up and people running from the launch on fire' worst possible scenario, but the launch not going as swimmingly as it could.

My afore-mentioned mother dearest has voiced some similar concerns but I don't think she's aware just how much a small part of me is dreading this evening.

Fingers crossed! *gulp*

Assertiveness

I attended a course on assertiveness today, in a bid to become a nicer, less argumentative person.

If I fail, I fear I will become the crazy old lady who stands in the street shouting at litter, whom small children fear and teenagers ridicule. I think I’d like to grow old disgracefully, in full charge of all my senses and knowing exactly what I'm up to as I get dragged kicking and screaming from a children's playground by the rozzers.

This is now forming a magnificent picture in my mind. My blotchy, greyscale image adorning the notice boards of local churches, village halls and community centres along with a big red 'WARNING' displayed above it. I want a special code for the filth to use whenever I am reported causing social unrest. A one-woman riot, that's what I'll be!

"Uh, dispatch, this is unit 2504, we have a uh… 10-45 in progress. Again. Over."
"(Aw jeez.) Roger 2504, please state your location. Over."
"Uh, dispatch we are at the Meadow Road park."
(sound of sobbing and screeching over radio)
"Please send immediate back up. Over."
"Roger 2504, armed support approaching at speed."

I should add, I don’t want to become a criminal and locked up. I just want to be old, get away with very bad behaviour and go out with a bang. Who wants to go out with a whimper?