WDT_logo.jpg (20771 bytes)Welcome to DavidTarver.com
Home Up Crucilble Mayor Serious? Womb to Tomb The End, v2 Barbara King Going Home My First Apt. They Need More A Parking Tale My Lost Song Vegetative CNN Special? Diversity University Kids' Sports The Dream? Memory, Mentor Vintage Sausage Price of Loyalty Uncle Bill NCLB Integration Customer Service Brown Babies The Big Storm Buffalo Soldier Annie's Gift Inspiring Performance Bouncing Back Yamamoto Survivor Dr. Warner Popcorn Ham Sandwich Reggie Drew Horgan No Crossing Hard Work, Luck Earth Angel

 

2004: A Customer Service Odyssey

Copyright © 2004,2005, W. David Tarver

When my daughter Stacy started college last fall, I bought her a fancy new Sony computer. A few months later, it started making strange noises and shutting off all by itself. Stacy called me for help, so I called Sony Customer Support. A computer answered the phone.

"Hello", a pleasant if slightly obnoxious male voice said. "I’m the Sony automated customer support system, and I’m here to assist you. Just say the model number of the computer you’re calling about."

This was new. I had never encountered a speaking, listening customer service computer before. I thought of HAL, from 2001, A Space Odyssey. Now I was being asked to have a conversation with Sony’s HAL. Call it SAL.

I didn’t exactly remember the model number of Stacy’s computer. I did know that it was Sony’s fanciest new all-in-one desktop unit, their answer to the Apple IMac. If I had been talking to a human being, they could have figured out the model number from that information alone. Instead, all I could say was "Uhhh…uhhh". SAL didn’t understand this. SAL repeated, "Just say the model number of the computer you’re calling about". After cursing out Sony and SAL (which SAL also did not seem to understand), I hung up and called Stacy for the model number.

Now I was ready. I called Sony again and got SAL again. Again SAL asked for the model number, and I gave it. Next SAL said, "What is the serial number of your computer?"

I didn’t know the serial number. The computer was in New York with Stacy, and I was in Red Bank. I just sat there like an idiot, not knowing what to do. After a few minutes, SAL said, "I didn’t get that. Please just say the serial number of the computer you’re calling about."

Now I was starting to get frantic. I punched the "0" key on the phone, hoping to get a real live operator. SAL responded, "I didn’t get that. Please just say the serial number of the computer you’re calling about." In desperation, I just started punching random numbers on the phone. SAL paused, and then said, "Just a moment. I’ll connect you with an agent." Victory! Maybe now I would get a human customer service technician.

SAL did connect me with a human agent, a woman with an Indian accent. She identified herself as Dipa, and asked me to give my name and address. Then she asked for the computer model number – the number I had just given to SAL. Next she asked me for the serial number, and I explained that I was in New Jersey and the computer was in New York with my daughter, so I did not have the serial number right now.

"What is the nature of the problem you are having?" Dipa asked. I explained that the computer was shutting down all by itself. "Please hold on", Dipa said. After a few minutes she came back on the line and asked, "Is the power cord plugged in securely?"

I was starting to get pissed, but I just said "Yes". I don’t think the tinge of indignation in my voice registered with Dipa. She asked me a few more, seemingly perfunctory troubleshooting questions, all of which she seemed to be reading from some script. None of the questions seemed to relate at all to the problem I was having. After I answered each question, she would leave the line for a few minutes, probably to analyze my answer and find the next question on her script. After a half hour of this torture, my head was ready to explode.

"Can you connect me with a supervisor?" I asked. After waiting another five minutes or so, an American-sounding guy named John came on the line. I felt encouraged, but I was also curious. "Are you in the States?" I asked. "Yeah, I’m a Level 2 Customer Service Representative in Fort Myers, Florida", John replied. Then I asked, "Was I just talking to someone in India?" John replied, "Yes, our Level 1 customer support staff is in India."

John asked me for the model number of Stacy’s computer, which I gave to him. Then he asked me to explain the nature of the problem, which I did. He said that there were a few things I could do to diagnose the problem if I could get to the computer, but if not, Stacy would have to send the computer to Sony’s San Diego service center for repair. John said that he would Fedex a shipping box to Stacy’s dorm. A couple of days later, I went up to Stacy’s dorm to check out the computer. I performed the troubleshooting steps John gave me and found that the computer had a bad fan. This was causing the machine to overheat, and after reaching a certain temperature, to shut down. I packed the machine into the box that John sent, and the next day, Fedex picked it up. A few days later, Stacy got her computer back, repaired and working fine.

I loaned Stacy my own Sony laptop while her computer was being fixed. When she returned it to me, it was broken. I called Sony Customer Service again. This time, I was ready. I wrote down the model number and serial number of my laptop, and I called SAL. I gave it all the information it asked for, exactly when it asked. I even spoke in a monotone, to be sure that SAL would understand and maybe even like me. SAL arranged for a box to be sent to me, and a few days later, I had my laptop back, all repaired.

I learned some interesting lessons from this exercise. 1) Good ole U.S. customer support is still the best. 2) Dealing with a computer like SAL for customer service ain’t half-bad if you talk to it the right way. 3) My daughter Stacy is very hard on computers.

March 30, 2004

Revised March 4, 2005

Red Bank, New Jersey