411 on the 411

My First Day


It’s early Saturday morning in mid February, cold enough for a sweater, but not a winter coat. Typical Colorado weather. For the front range anyway, which refers to the string of populous cities from Pueblo north to the Wyoming border. It’s also my first day as a directory assistance operator for cell phone users. Five days ago, I was absolutely sure I could do this job. No sweat. Having emerged from what the company euphemistically calls ‘a week of training’, the only thing I’m sure about is that I should go home now.

I'm lurking on the outer perimeter of the call center, which is a sea of light-grey-on-medium-grey, very utilitarian, broken here and there by what looks like bobbing, disembodied heads. A low mumble of twenty voices punctuate the clickety-clack of two hundred fingers typing on old, sticky keyboards. I'm sure you’ve seen those headset wearing operators on tv, the ones who are ‘always standing by?’ That’s a very pretty picture alright, but call centers don’t look anywhere that nice. Or clean. They’re generally on the low-rent side of town.

On the far wall I notice two large digital boards. One has three columns of green numbers. I have no idea what the numbers mean. The other shows six different time zones. Why do I need to know what time it is in Hawaii? We’re only answering calls from six states; Colorado, Utah, Wyoming, Montana, New Mexico and Arizona. Aren’t we?

Glancing around, I don’t see anyone who’d recognize me. Whew, good. I can just walk out and nobody’ll be the wiser. I begin to back up.

Suddenly, an older female with short blonde-grey hair pops up from a cubicle. She’s clutching a sheaf of papers in her hand, looking at me and smiling. I’m not sure which I notice first, her decaying teeth, or her acrylic nails, which are 3" long and a eye-popping shade of neon pink.

“Hi,” she grins as she approaches me. “I’m Claude, one of the supervisors. Is this your first day?”

I smile nervously. Should I say yes? Can I weasel and tell her I’m just here delivering donuts? I hesitate, but I’m not a good liar. Finally, I just nod.

“Great! What’s your name?” I tell her. She looks down the sheet and jots a note. Now that she’s next to me, I expect her breath to smell like her teeth look. They don't, thank goodness.

“Well, looks like you’re it, buckeroo. Nobody else has shown up. Let’s get you a headset.” She strides over to a metal cabinet, opens a drawer, pulls out a black bag and unzips it. “Here you go.” I stand there frozen. I begin my but-but-but protest. Claude just clucks like a mother hen.

“Nonsense. You’ve done customer service before?” I nod and she snorts. “Training-shmaining. You don’t need a week of training to do this crap. It’s easy.”

She shows me how to turn the computer on. I adjust the headset.

“This,” she intones, wrapping those clawlike nails around a little black box, “is how you control the volume and the mute button. See how they work?” She dials the volume switch up and down, and then presses a small button and grins. “You'll find that this Mute button is Your Friend.”

“Now, remember you recorded greetings in training? One for each of the major carriers?” I nod dumbly. It’s all I can manage. “Well,” she continues, “as each call comes in, the right one will play and say hello to the customer for you. We call ‘em ‘VRUs’. Stands for Voice Recording Unit - don’t ask me why." She shrugs. "So. You ready?”

Gawd, no. But, I take a deep breath, dial my operator number into the phone’s keypad. And here it comes. My first call.

“Welcome to Verizon Wireless 411. May I help you?” It’s the greeting I recorded three days ago. It sounds so chipper.

“Yeah!” a deep voice booms. I jump in surprise. Claude barks out a not-so-quiet laugh as she turns the volume down. “I need Majj-O’s!”

“Majj-O’s?” I repeat bewilderedly.

“Yeah!” The man bellows back goodnaturedly. “Majj-O’s!”

Claude hits the mute button. “One word replies won’t work, Remember, talk in complete sentences.” She adds, “Ask him if he means MajhiANo’s.” I nod, still bewildered. What’s a MajhiANos?

“Do you mean MajhiANo’s, sir?”

“Yeah!” he concurs. This man, apparently, likes talking in exclamation points.

I look at the computer screen. It has five boxes to type in:

Name
Address
City
State
Zip Code
Category

Hmmm. I know I need more information. “What city please?”

“Denver!” Which is something I will find that they always say. To callers, no major city has suburbs.

I look at Claude. She nods at the phone. “Thank you, one moment please.”

“Thank you, one moment please,” I say to the man.

“Yeah!”

I shrug at Claude, and she begins whisper-spelling. “M-a-g-g-i-a-n-o-s. It’s a restaurant. Italian. Just opened up.” I’ve never heard of it. Shows you how often I eat out in my own town. I type Maggianos into the Name box, and the local area code (303) into the city field, since I'm not sure which location he'll want. I hit enter, and whaddya know. There's only one.

The script on the screen dictates what I have to say next. “The number you requested is 303-123-4567. Thank you and have a nice day.”

“Yeah! Thanks!” Mr. Exclamation Point pauses. “Are you connecting me?”

“Yes, sir, I am.” And I am, but the script doesn’t tell me to tell him that. Just another one of those call center don’t-ask-me-why things. I connect him.

“Oops.” says Claude, just as I release the call. “You were supposed to say ‘thank you and have a nice day.”

“I did.”

“I know but you have to say it again, at the end of every call.”

“Even if I said it already?” She nods. “Claude, that’ll make me sound like an idiot.”

She shrugs. “Yep. I know. But them’s the rules, buckeroo.”


Call #2


“This is Sprint directory assistance, how may I help you today?” Another one of my chipper greetings.

This one’s easy. They want Home Depot in Lakewood. Hell, I could drive you right over there.


Call #3

"This is AT&T Information. May I help you?" I'll soon discover the good thing about these prerecorded sound bites is that it gives you a chance to take a drink in between calls.

The line is full of pops, clicks and static. “Hi.” says a breathless woman, “Yeah, I need that art place on Broadway.”

“What’s the name of it?”

Claude’s stage-whispering again. “What’s the name of the business? Never say it.” I nod.

“Oh God, I don’t know.” The caller huffs. “It’s that place! You know. The big, brick building?”

Yes, that clears it up. Thanks.

“Is it art supply place?” I prompt. “An art gallery?”

“I don’t know,” the woman caller says again. “They have frames!”

Claude’s whispering again. “It’s probably Meininger’s.”

Another place I’ve never heard of. “Could it be Meininger’s?” I ask as I type, mangling the spelling royally.

“Maybe …” the woman says hesitantly. She seems to know as much about this place as I do.

Claude clues me in on something – if you don’t know how to spell it, add a question mark. Great tip. Except it brings me back four screens full of white pages listings, all businesses, all beginning with the letter M, and all on Broadway. Broadway’s the north/south dividing line in Denver. It’s a lonnng street.

Claude keeps having to remind me to say “thank you, one moment please” every 10 seconds while I'm searching. Dead air is a big no-no. I nod. This is really my day for nodding.

“Is it next to the furniture store?” the woman asks. “If it’s next to the furniture store -- you know the one I mean -- then that’s the place.”

I know just as much about furniture stores on Broadway as I do 'art places'. But I can’t say that.

Instead, I politely read from the text on the screen, “Meininger’s is located at 499 Broadway. Is that the location you're thinking?”

“Oh, I suppose." She's exasperated now. " Just give it to me.”

"The number you requested -"

"Just CONNECT me!" she interrupts.

"Yes ma'am. Thank you and have a nice day."

I connect her and the day moves on.

But, I think this is a long enough posting for now. If anybody has any interest in hearing more tales from an outsourced call center, leave a comment and let me know. Okay?