“Have my lunch money, Mom?” my son asked.
I used to ask him every day if he wanted to bring or buy, until finally he said, “Mom, I am going to buy my lunch every day. I am not going to break my record!”
“You do know they don’t give out an award for that, don’t you?” I asked.
But, for a growing kid, piles of meat loaf, mashed potatoes, beefy tacos, French fries and a carton of milk is award enough.
I don’t mind. It bulks him up for football and keeps me from worrying about whether I should cut his sandwich straight across or diagonally.
So, I go to my checkbook to pay for the cheapest lunch in town and notice it’s the last one. No problem. I’ll just call and order some more. Should be easy enough, right?
I call and get the automated voice, make that, the automated, friendly-man voice. I can say or punch in my vital information. Believe me, with my Southern accent punching it in is the only way to go.
I dutifully follow his directions while he says nice things to me like, “You’re doing great!” “We value you as a customer,” and, my favorite, “We’re almost done!”
Then the voice grows quiet.
“Uh oh” he says, his friendly voice sounding concerned.
Well, this can’t be good, I thought.
“It looks like you need to speak with a customer representative,” he said solemnly.
The phone is quiet for a minute, and I picture the automated robot man getting up and looking for someone who could help me.
Then he’s back, chipper as ever, “It looks like there is no one here at the moment! Say or press two for the office hours of our representatives.”
I hung up on him.
I guess it didn’t hurt his feelings because I called back later, and we went through the whole process, and he didn’t sound like he held it against me.
“Okay,” he said, “let me transfer you.”
More like it, I thought.
“Hello,” said a friendly-sounding female. “Can you please say or press in your account information?”
It took a few seconds before it dawned on me that she too was automated. I went through the same drill with her while thinking, “Do I really even need checks?”
Eventually, I was transferred to a live person, and I went through the drill for the third time. This is for security purposes, I was told. Okaaaay … Perhaps the logic being a thief would have let it go after the first phone call because it was such a hassle.
My frustration level was high when the representative said, “I see you ordered two boxes last time.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“So, why not order four or five boxes this time?”
Long story short, my son’s getting used to his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cut diagonally. He might miss his hearty school lunches, but I will never miss that bank.
I used to ask him every day if he wanted to bring or buy, until finally he said, “Mom, I am going to buy my lunch every day. I am not going to break my record!”
“You do know they don’t give out an award for that, don’t you?” I asked.
But, for a growing kid, piles of meat loaf, mashed potatoes, beefy tacos, French fries and a carton of milk is award enough.
I don’t mind. It bulks him up for football and keeps me from worrying about whether I should cut his sandwich straight across or diagonally.
So, I go to my checkbook to pay for the cheapest lunch in town and notice it’s the last one. No problem. I’ll just call and order some more. Should be easy enough, right?
I call and get the automated voice, make that, the automated, friendly-man voice. I can say or punch in my vital information. Believe me, with my Southern accent punching it in is the only way to go.
I dutifully follow his directions while he says nice things to me like, “You’re doing great!” “We value you as a customer,” and, my favorite, “We’re almost done!”
Then the voice grows quiet.
“Uh oh” he says, his friendly voice sounding concerned.
Well, this can’t be good, I thought.
“It looks like you need to speak with a customer representative,” he said solemnly.
The phone is quiet for a minute, and I picture the automated robot man getting up and looking for someone who could help me.
Then he’s back, chipper as ever, “It looks like there is no one here at the moment! Say or press two for the office hours of our representatives.”
I hung up on him.
I guess it didn’t hurt his feelings because I called back later, and we went through the whole process, and he didn’t sound like he held it against me.
“Okay,” he said, “let me transfer you.”
More like it, I thought.
“Hello,” said a friendly-sounding female. “Can you please say or press in your account information?”
It took a few seconds before it dawned on me that she too was automated. I went through the same drill with her while thinking, “Do I really even need checks?”
Eventually, I was transferred to a live person, and I went through the drill for the third time. This is for security purposes, I was told. Okaaaay … Perhaps the logic being a thief would have let it go after the first phone call because it was such a hassle.
My frustration level was high when the representative said, “I see you ordered two boxes last time.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“So, why not order four or five boxes this time?”
Long story short, my son’s getting used to his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cut diagonally. He might miss his hearty school lunches, but I will never miss that bank.
2 comments:
This was FUNNY!
With much trial and error, I have finally realized that alot of the time if you just push zero you get connected to a real person. Sometimes they even speak English!
Thank you! That is good to know. Another friend said I could have just ordered them online. Don't know why I didn't think of that!
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