Someone should conduct a study to determine how much time each of us spends dealing with the nonsense created by incompetence. The first attempt to get something corrected or adjusted is not too bad—few of us expect people to be perfect. The second go-around starts to get annoying and by the third or fourth, homicide may come to mind as a workable strategy. If you imagine what we might all accomplish if this drag on our productivity was eliminated (or at least reduced), it’s easy to get very excited about competence.
After 23 months of phone calls and correspondence I succeeded in untangling a billing mistake from the nice but inept folks from whom I lease the copier that lives and works in my office. This copier has a vicious sense of humor. It breaks when I am most desperate for it to function, as if it has a sixth sense that registers my anxiety (an example of a special type of machine incompetence).
The billing error battle began when an incorrect number of copies was logged into the copier company’s computerized billing system. Whether the error was mine in reporting the readout or theirs in computer entry will never be known. The result, in any case, was pure chaos.
The erroneous invoice arrived, including a charge for exceeding the allowable monthly number of 7,500 copies: $2,389 in “extra charges.”
At .029 cents per extra copy, I would have had to stand at the machine night and day to make that number of extra copies. In the ensuing months, I made seven calls (each of which produced assurances that the problem was corrected in the computer), wrote four letters (none of which, I am convinced, were ever read), and even had a technician out to do a repair. He called in with his employee ID number and tried to convince the accounting office of my innocence. No dice. The next invoice still carried a past due balance, mounting interest charges, and increasing threats.
In desperation, I copied (ironic, is it not?) the entire file—phone logs, correspondence, and the growing pile of incorrect invoices—and mailed the lot to five different offices because I was unable to discern which one might actually DO something. At some future date we will examine the irritating habit so many companies have of being invisible and inaccessible to their customers. (Have you ever tried to CALL your phone company?)
I sent everything return receipt requested. Take note: Such action is a sure sign the customer has lost patience.
One letter was returned as undeliverable. At least one of the four that were delivered evidently fell (no doubt accidently) into competent hands. The problem (and with it all interest charges and threats) went away. No apology followed. The frightening thing is I didn’t expect one. We consumers are well trained even if few of the people who serve us are.
Small but Swift. What lies at the bottom of such service fiascoes? Are people overworked? Untrained? Disinterested? Is it a computer malfunction? Or have the systems we use become so large that they are impervious to human influence?
