Patience, Patience

Normally, I am a very patient man. In fact, aside from still having most of my
hair, the ability to withstand a substantial amount of non-sense is among my only redeemable qualities. Recently, that sense of tolerance has been tested by a collection of customer service professionals who seemed determined to drive me into a stroke induced coma.

All of you have encountered these "helpful" folks. To reach an actual human being on the phone you must first dial the gauntlet of instructed key strokes on your telephone. Some menus allow you to speak the numbers into the phone rather than use your dial pad, warning, steer clear of this option at all cost. The site of a grown person screaming "FOUR" head-faced into a handset is not a pretty sight, especially when they have to repeat themselves until they become light-headed.

Worse are the phone systems that employ a virtual switchboard person who can only understand the specific language they are programmed to comprehend. I battled such an entity last week, who here and after will be referred to as "Virtual Betty." Regardless of what I said Betty responded, "I'm sorry, I am having trouble understanding what you are saying". "Really?" I responded (forgetting for a moment that I was talking to a machine), "You mean nothing that I have said falls within your 250 word hard drive vocabulary?" To which she replied "I'm sorry, I am having trouble, blah,blah,blah"….you know the rest. A vein in my forehead began to take the shape of surfacing submarine, as I lashed out at my mechanical antagonist, spewing a stream of profanity that would shame Tony Soprano's crew. Perhaps shocked into submission, my inflexible robot friend had apparently heard enough and immediately transferred me to a living breathing person in a matter of seconds. Had I unlocked the passage around Virtual Betty? Was her distaste for colorful language the chink in her amour?

Reaching the next level of customer service evolution (a human), I began my quest to have my issue resolved. I was funneled to a woman, who clearly specializes in foul mouthed customers who began our conversation by chastising me for even reaching her extension. Either Betty had rated me out or perhaps all of the particularly vulgar calls were sent to my new friend automatically. When she was finished scolding me, the woman put me on hold and transferred me to another department. A young man answered and quickly put me on hold again. Gentle hold music played (it sounded like a softened instrumental version of "Highway to Hell," but perhaps I was mistaken) as my Blackberry started to feel hot on my ear. I continued to wait for another twelve minutes.

When "Noel" arrived back on the phone he volleyed a series of questions my way, trying to understand who I was and why I was calling. I explained that my last name was Kaufman and spelled my name for him. An astonishing exchange followed.

Noel- Sir, was the second letter of your last name an "a" or an "eight" ?

Me (laughing)- An eight? What am I a part number? No, it's an "a".

Noel- Thank you Mr. Coffman

Me- Actually it's pronounced "Cowf-man".

Noel- (indignently)- No its not, its pronounced "Coffman"

Me- Noel, are you telling me that I am mispronouncing my own name?

Noel- I guess.

Me- (becoming a tad heated) You guess? Maybe I should scare-up a séance, contact my Dad and let him know that NOEL has discovered that we have been saying our name incorrectly for all of these years?

Noel- Sir, can you hold for a moment?

Before, I could answer I was whisked away to phone purgatory once again. Nine minutes passed and a familiar voice returned to the phone, it was my earlier nemesis, Virtual Betty. Betty's smiling voice prompted tears to well-up in my eyes, I had gone full circle. I tossed my phone down and placed a bag of ice on my throbbing head.

A wise man once said that patience and fortitude conquer all things, however, I doubt if that fellow had ever been summarily defeated by a combination of technology, apathy and stupidity. Patience has fallen off that short list of Jon's virtues. On the bright side, I still have my hair.