Confessions of a Call Center Gal: a novel (32 page)

We have proudly launched our new ad campaign—We Service All Your Needs in Lightning Time. In order for our campaign to be a success, we will focus on your AHT (Average Handle Time). This is something that all the Team Leads and Supervisors will be watching out for. If they see that your call goes over 2 minutes, they will come and check on you. We will also be watching Not Ready since every second of Not Ready will increase your AHT, and you should typically never be in Not Ready for more than 5 seconds. Keep in mind that the AHT goal is 2 minutes. Please adhere to this policy; failure to do so will result in an informal warning, followed by a formal written warning, and subsequent termination. Thank you for all your hard work.

Siegfried Miles, CEO

Corporate HQ

I stare at the appalling email. “My AHT is seven minutes,” I cry. “What’s yours, Truong?”

“Mine’s six.” He exhales sharply. “We are
so
fucked.”

I pound my fist on the desk. “I got another relay call today so that will jack up my handle time!”

“Next time you get a relay call, just hang up.” Truong plonks a maki roll in his mouth.

I nibble my lips. “I’ll get fired if I get caught…”

“Well, that’s what I’ll do,” says Truong. “Hang up on the handicapped to save my job.”

My conscience immediately kicks in. “But I really don’t want to hang up on them. It’s not their fault that they are deaf or dumb, I mean
mute
,” I hastily correct myself. “Don’t you think
dumb
is such a degrading word?”

“You can call them whatever you want.” He sniggers. “They can’t answer you back!”

“Truong! You are going to Hell in a handbasket.”

Lurching forward, I playfully tug his scarf and he theatrically feigns his death. After goofing around, the reality of the situation begins to sink in.

“What they’re asking us to do is
impossible,
” he implores.

“I know! Troubleshooting takes time. Listening to customers’ complaints takes time, selling takes time. Let me have another one of those Spider rolls.” I reach across with my chopsticks and plunk a roll in my mouth.

Truong strokes an imaginary Confucius beard. “Just you wait and see. When they find out that
no one
can meet this ridiculous ‘two minute
AHT
goal,’ they will change it!” he proffers.

A week goes by and the Average Handle Time is still stuck at two minutes. It’s near pandemonium; everyone is in a wild panic. The AHT for the entire call center hovers at six minutes, give or take a minute. I know this for a fact because management sends out everyone’s stats on a daily basis. Last week, the overall AHT for this center was 6.5 minutes.

And they want us to drop it down to 2 minutes?

Are they loco?

“Truong! What will they do? Fire everybody?”

“I don’t know.” He fidgets with his scarf. “I don’t want to lose my job. Heck, it’s a full blown recession now.”

“Hell, if I lose mine, it’ll be a depression.”

A shadow of a frown touches his forehead. “They
have
to lower the handle time.”

“They won’t,” I say glumly. “I heard this rumor that they can’t lower it. In that stupid ad campaign, the caption says we service all calls in two minutes or less. So they can’t retract the ad now; it’s too late! They’ve already spent way too much money.”

Truong shakes his head at the company’s sheer idiocy. “Well, they’ll
have
to do something.”

And then it happened.

On Tuesday morning, the server crashed. All our systems are down. Kaput. I cannot log in to a single app. Not one!

It is complete bedlam and utter chaos in here. Armageddon.

All the supervisors and leads are running around in circles like the sky is falling, screaming out orders, “Use down scripts! Use down scripts!”

Beep!

“Thank you for calling Lightning Speed. I’m so sorry, but our systems are currently down. Is there a general question that I can help you with?”

“Nope,” says the caller and promptly hangs up.

Beep!

And on and on and on it goes.

I use ‘Down Scripts’ on every single call, while simultaneously reading
The Da Vinci Code
. This is fantastic! I don’t even have to use one ounce of my brain to think and troubleshoot.

I can just read my novel and repeat the same sentence over and over again, like a broken tape recorder.

Sometimes, just for shits and giggles, I make sure I sound extra robotic so the callers think they’re talking to an automated attendant and hang up. This is too good to be true.

Suddenly, Hillary barks over my shoulder, “You cannot say that our systems are down, you are
supposed
to say that our systems are UNAVAILABLE. That is the mandatory script.”

I blink.

She continues frenetically, “If you say that our systems are down, it causes undue panic. Like if there is a bomb on the plane, the pilot does
not
tell the passengers that there is a bomb on board. He merely informs them that there is ‘a situation’. Same thing here! Our systems are NOT DOWN! And if you tell the callers that our systems are down, you will get a big fat zero on your quality scores!”

“Got it. The systems are unavailable,” I say to placate her.

She forges on, “And if the callers ask when our systems will be back up, let them know that we do
not
have an ETA.”

I smile and nod obediently.

Beep!

“Thank you for calling Lightning Speed. I’m so sorry but our systems are currently unavailable. Is there a general question I can help you with?”

“So your systems are down,” states the caller.

“Um,
no
sir. Our systems are unavailable.”

“Yeah, so they’re down,” insists the caller.

“No,” I protest. “They’re unavailable.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he demands.

“It means our systems are not available.”

He makes an exasperated sound. “When will it be back up?”

“Sorry sir, we don’t have an ETA.”

“Now what does that mean?” he huffs.

“It’s an abbreviation for Estimated Time of Arrival.”

Sheesh. Now we’re supposed to talk like air traffic controllers.

Hmm, shouldn’t it be ETR? Estimated Time of Repair?

Click!

Aside from that snafu, it has been a rather swell day at work; and by the end of my shift, I’ve finished reading the entire novel.

Before logging off, I check my stats report.

Holy Sacred Indian Cow! My Average Handle Time for today is eight seconds! And that bumps up my overall handle time to two minutes!

“Truong!” I cry excitedly. “Have you checked your stats yet?”

“Sure have, darling. I love it when the server goes down; makes my stats look
fab
.”

My eyes narrow suspiciously. “Do you think they rigged it?”

Truong stares at me in blank astonishment. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I say in a hushed voice, “I think they planned this! They made the server crash on
purpose
to help improve our handle time.”
   

How sneaky! I am amazed by their shrewdness.

This is
so
surreal. And what a brilliant idea!

“It’s a
conspiracy,
” I hiss.

“Maddy,” he says mildly, “quit reading those silly Dan Brown novels.”

Twenty One

T
his week, Lightning Speed launched Security Questions, and all day long, I’ve been fielding calls from customers who either do not recall setting up their questions, or do not recall the answers to the questions that
they
themselves picked.

Go figure
. I’m convinced that half the population suffers from acute Alzheimer’s and dementia.

Beep!

“Thanks for calling Lightning Speed Communications, this is Maddy. How can I help?”

“My name is Rajeeswari Veerakukatanarasimharajuvaripeta and these Security Questions are so annoying. I don’t remember setting them up, and now I’m locked out of my account.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that Mister, um, Venkaqruisi, err...piqua,” I fumble, “but these are questions that you at one time chose and answered.”

“I said that I did NOT set them up!” he blasts. “I SWEAR ON MY MOTHER’S GRAVE!”

“Sir, if you can answer one of your Security Questions over the phone, I can get you back online.”

“Go ahead!” he growls. “Ask me the damn question!”

“Okay. Where did you go on your first date?”

“I picked that question?” he spits haughtily.

“Yes sir, you did,” I inform him evenly.

“
Shhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiit
, I don’t know. My bedroom?”

I gag.
Some date
.

After typing in his answer, my app tells me it’s a no-go. “Sorry sir. That’s incorrect. Would you like to go to the next question?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, highly agitated at this point.

“Question number two: What is your dream occupation?”

Long pause.

“Bus driver?” he manages at last.

“Sorry sir, but that is the wrong answer. Would you like to go to the next question?”

“How can that be wrong?” he demands, huffing and puffing.

“Um, because that was not the answer you originally gave?” I say in a neutral tone.

“This is complete BULLSHIT! Next question!”

“Okay, question number three: What song did you dance to on your wedding night?”

“Which one? I’ve been married
four
times.”

“Sir, once again, you picked these questions. So
you
tell me.”

He scoffs with rage, “HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW?”

I forge on, “All right, here is the last question: What was the model year of your first car?”

“Well I bought my car in 2008,” he says grumpily.

I rub my temples. “Sir, the model year refers to the year your car was built,
not
the year you bought it.”

“Oh! 2002 Chrysler!”

“Thank you. That was the right answer.”
Phew
.

I unlock his account and he’s able to get back online.

Cough.
And he swore on his mother’s grave that he
never
set up his Security Questions. Shame on Mister
whatshisname
.

Beep!

“Thanks for calling Lightning Speed, this is Maddy,” I say listlessly. “What can I do for you today?”

“These Security Questions are driving me crazy. I need help setting them up.”

“I can help, ma’am. What seems to be the problem?”

“It’s patronizing me! It refuses to take my answers.”

“Now tell me, what are the questions you’re choosing?”

“Well, the first one is: What’s your oldest sibling’s birthday?”

“Ma’am, can you please make sure that your answer is in the right format?”

A beat. Another beat. Still no answer.

“Um, what format is it specifying?” I persist.

“It says MMDD. But I’ve entered my sister’s birthday and it won’t accept it!”

“Well, what answer did you give?”

“0581978.”

“So, is her birthday on May eighth?”

“Yes,” she concurs, flustered at this point.

“Then you need to enter 0508.”

“Oh!” she cries like it’s a revelation. “Since I have you on the line, can you please stay with me until I complete this?”

“Of course I can,” I say graciously.

“Here’s the next question that I’m choosing: What is your favorite book? And I’m typing in the Bible for my answer.”

“Um ma’am, that is pretty easy to guess. According to polls, that is what forty percent of users list as their favorite book and any hacker could easily figure that out. It would be more secure if your answer is a bit harder for someone to guess.”

“Then I won’t remember it,” she says with an aggrieved air.

I breathe out a heavy sigh. These stinking Security Questions are far from being foolproof. Some of the answers she provides could be posted on her Facebook page. Any teenager high on pot could easily access her info with just a few mouse clicks.