I recently had three interactions with companies that got me thinking. Why should it be that I get special attention from the marketing director or CEO, who proceeds to give orders that my problem will be made to go away, forthwith?
Of course, I'm grateful that the first company stopped billing me, three months after I had terminated my account, even though this required the intervention of the CEO, who had been alerted to my dilemma by a friend of mine.
It is marvellous that a technical problem a friend had with a service got addressed by senior staff at the company concerned, because a question I asked on Twitter was picked up by a public relations executive.
I'm exceptionally thankful to the fellow who drove an hour out of his way on a Sunday morning, with his family in the back of his car, to sort out what would have been a crisis.
I can just imagine the conversation in the car. "Daddy, why are we going all the way there?"
"Because my boss said so."
"But why, daddy?"
"Because the guy we're visiting is a cranky fellow who'll say bad things about us if we don't help him right now. I'll make it up to you next weekend, sweetheart."
It should never have come to this.
I have always tried to avoid using my position as a journalist in order to jump queues or get better customer service. There are two reasons for this: one, I think it an unethical abuse of power; and two, I want to see customer service as it is inflicted upon ordinary customers.
This is why I dislike writing columns about my own customer service issues. I'm not special, and my customer service problems are no more worth airing than those of any reader. Everyone has a horror story or two to tell about their dealings with banks, insurance companies, telcos, lawyers or government departments. Frankly, columns that read like a hellopeter.com complaint make me think less of the author.
I'm not special, and my customer service problems are no more worth airing than those of any reader.
Ivo Vegter, ITWeb contributor
I won't claim to be without sin. I have, in moments of anger, demanded to be put through to the CEO, if only to see whether the call centre drone even knows for whom they work. The answer, usually, is: "Who? There's nobody here by that name." This always cheers me up immensely.
The same principle that holds for columns probably also means that journalists should stop airing their frustrations with terrible service on informal platforms such as Twitter. Once a member of the media complains about something on a public platform, it becomes inevitable that some PR, marketing or management person sits up and takes note.
As thankful for the intervention as I am, however, I want to leave these companies with one thought: would you have done this for all your customers?
I should get exceptional customer service because I spend my hard-earned income on your products, not because I'm a journalist. And others, who do not have the public platform to point out the shortcomings of the companies they deal with, should get exactly the same customer service.
If "out of stock" really means "out of stock except when the CEO asks", you're probably causing a problem for another customer in order to help me.
It worked. I didn't name you in this column. But I do wish to apologise to the customer who will have to wait a little longer because strings were pulled for me. I'd like to think the company in question apologised too, or did something special to make up for being unfair to the other customer. Not to mention messing up a Sunday morning for a man with a family.
Customer service should be a contractual right, not a privilege that depends on your public profile. It's time our companies started acting accordingly.
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