It was with some disappointment that I found myself talking to someone the other side of the planet, and straining to hear what they were saying. I have no real interest or bias regarding the siting of any call centre by any company. My only real concern is that I can speak English and be understood, and can be spoken to in English and understand. Such a simple expectation is nigh on cuntin' impossible these days. I struggled to hear what was being said, as the pronunciation and accent made demands upon my ears that exceeded those exerted by a weak morse code signal tapped into the knackered earpiece of a 75-year-old deaf cunt wearing soggy earmuffs!
The woman asked me to confirm some details for security reasons, and my full name and phone number seemed reasonable enough. She then went on to request my email address. I politely said I didn't want to receive any emails, so didn't want to provide it. Apparently this sort of obstructive behaviour is unprecedented, because she was gobsmacked. She then wanted my mobile number. I declined, saying that I didn't want any calls, I just wanted to sort out a balance transfer. Again, she was mystified by my non-compliant response. Her 'Okay' was less than convincing, and suggested to me that she was far from 'okay' about it. "It's just for security, you know. We won't call you on it." I thought for 0.63 seconds, and replied: "Then you hardly need it, do you." I was getting mildly frustrated, but sensed we were about to move on to the point of the call, and my transfer.
"I will see what offers we have at the moment. The email address is simply for logging on our system." Talk about not giving up! "I don't want to receive any emails, or phone calls. I like the fact that I can call you when I want something, and all I want is to sort out a balance transfer."
That did the trick, and I was glad (well my ears were) of the pause in the 'debate' while she checked. She then advised that I could give my Barclaycard number, which I did. The next few minutes were gruelling, and without going into detail or relaying personal arrangements, I got so fucking fucked off with Barclaycard that I said goodbye, called my bank, and paid off the whole cuntin' balance. To do this, I called a number which led me to a call centre in England. I spoke to a nice woman who asked how she could help. I told her. She did it. I thanked her. End of call. All by ordinary discourse, with no "pardon", no "can you repeat that", no "I can't hear you properly", no "I didn't catch that", no "what's your inside leg measurement, for security", no "how the fuck can I annoy you today?"
I am sure that the world of customer service and call centre policy is mundane a lot of the time, but I do maintain that the existence of these places is not endorsed when there is little by way of customer service, and the task of liaising with the relevant organisation is made extra challenging. I do not speak 'dolphin', nor do I manage well when being spoken to by someone who's apparently underwater! If the latter were not the case, I could converse with my own farts in the fucking bath. I do not readily understand daleks, lemurs, woodpeckers or cock-a-cuntin-toos. In short I am not Dr Dolittle, nor am I an interpreter for the United Nations. I am not interested at all in race or religion and these are irrelevant. I am interested in sorting something over the phone without my brain being shuffled, pummelled and poked by unintelligible noises.
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