One of the things I hate to do is make phone calls.
Seriously. I do occasionally enjoy chatting to friends and family, and I never mind being paid to make business calls, but in my own life, I dread calling businesses.
The sheer volume of information we have to provide and endure to accomplish such small tasks!
I don’t wanna!
“Thank you for calling The Yield Field. Please listen to our phone menu in its entirety as it has been changed. Press one for English. Para Espanol, o prima dos.”
“To check the status of an order, press one. To place a new order, press two. To report –”
“To order produce, press one.”
“A customer service representative will be with you shortly.”
I hear a series of clicks that makes me think I will be disconnected.
“Thank you for calling The Yield Field. How can I help you today?”
“Hello. I’m calling to order a bag of carrots.”
“Have you ordered carrots from us before?”
“Thank you for returning to us again for all your produce needs. How can I help?”
“I’d like to order some organic carrots, please.”
“Wonderful. We’re having a special on the Chatenays, three pounds for ten dollars. Or Scarlet Nantes, four point five pounds for twelve dollars.”
“Some plain old Danvers will do just fine.”
“A thrifty purchase, one point five pounds for three dollars.”
I hear much typing. Perhaps there are too many choices. Perhaps the person on the other end of the line has begun blogging.
“Do you have a color preference?”
“I do not.”
“Must all the carrots be the same color?”
“No. All colors are fine.”
“Excellent. That qualifies you to receive a pound of turnips or parsnips for half price. Would you prefer turnips or parsnips?”
“I don’t want either. I just want carrots.”
“I understand. Although less popular than our carrots, our turnips and parsnips are a powerhouse of nutrition and offer incredible flexibility in cooking. I could enclose a brochure which includes recipes for either one.”
“I just want carrots.”
“Okay. If you change your mind before your order ships, simply call us back and we’ll gladly update your delivery to include turnips or parsnips.”
“How many pounds of carrots would you like?”
“Alright, thank you. The charge is six dollars. How will you be paying today?”
“Wonderful. Thank you. Let me transfer you to our payment center. Just a moment.”
After four minutes of ear-shattering flute music, someone picks up. By this time, I’ve forgotten what I’m even waiting for.
“Who’s a good dog? Yes, you so good dog!”
“Thank you for waiting. I see we have an order for three pounds of carrots totaling six dollars.”
“I see you’re not interested in our exclusive half-off turnip and parsnip offers today?”
“Very well then. Can I get your name?”
“Jolene, J-O-L-E-N-E. Mottern, M-O-T-T-E-R-N.”
“Thank you. Would you please give me your password so I may verify you’re the account holder?”
“Thank you, Ms Motorin. I see you have ordered from us previously. Would you like to use the card attached to the account?”
I listen to rapid typing and a series of beeps.
“Thank you. I’m going to send you now to our shipping department. An associate there will provide you with a confirmation number and delivery information. It has been a pleasure speaking to you today and I hope we can count on your continued patronage.”
Oh, you know what’s coming! It’s my last chance to get half-off those turnips or parsnips! It’s someone asking me if after I’ve spent twenty minutes on the phone, wouldn’t I like to complete an automated survey of the service I received?
No, I didn’t really call and order carrots today, but I KNOW YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.