“Press One For….” Another Migraine. Customer Service Nightmares Aren’t Going Away.

Remember when, if you had a question or a problem, you could call up your health insurance provider, your bank, your telephone company (yes, I am that ancient) and speak to a real person who actually had the authority to try to fix your issue? Remember when you could order something from a paper catalog by calling and speaking to a real live salesperson who could help you decide on size or model? Now, if your transaction cannot be completed online, your chances of speaking to a human are as rare as being able to go the local CVS and find an “associate” to unlock the toothpaste display. 

Many institutions make even accessing a phone number on their website virtually impossible. If you are lucky enough to discover and then dial an 800 customer service number, an automated voice thanks you for your call, then offers up a list of generic topics of concern, requesting that you either answer yes or no to a question or respond on the keypad. I’m old enough to remember when you couldn’t even “press one for English,” because your phone had a rotary dial. Before you say “okay Boomer” and roll your eyes at my nostalgia, hear me out.

Since my husband died in May of 2021, I’ve had a number of complex issues related to settling his estate, including changing everything into my name only, cancelling any number of accounts in his name, setting up an estate account. Most of these issues could not be resolved online. For the last two years I have lived in “press one for …” purgatory, because the automated options offered never matched my complex query. The AI generated template of responses could only intone “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand your question,” asking me to repeat it or cycling me through the menu once again.

Two examples: First, when the account was transferred, my spousal federal retiree health insurance somehow got put under my husband’s name with my social security number and gender, only to be cancelled by the insurance company because he was no longer listed as a retired federal employee in the database, because he was dead. It took two years to untangle this, with biweekly phone calls to several agencies. Once that part was resolved, I discovered that a coding error had been made signing me up with a different insurance plan than the one I had selected. After that was fixed, the insurance company website would not permit me to register my new account, telling me that I already existed in the system under the old defunct one. This required a back-end fix that did not happen until phone call number eight, each one taking over an hour of wait time before reaching a human being who assured me that my situation would be fixed “in three to five business days.” 

When calling customer service at any institution, I’ve learned to just keep repeating “speak to a representative” over and over when asked what my call pertains to, because none of the options presented fit my case. Eventually, the phone either disconnects or I actually get transferred to a human, usually one with no authority to resolve my issue. I cannot tell you how emotionally draining this is, because on top of the frustration shared by any customer faced with an unresponsive bureaucracy, I also find myself drowning in a grief wave, reminded that my much more patient husband was much better at navigating things like this, knowing that were he still alive I wouldn’t have the problem at all.

If I had kept better records of the time I have spent navigating customer service menus and listening to godawful Muzak while waiting to finally reach a human, I could bill for my time, or so my lawyer tells me. But billing the estate, whose sole beneficiary is me, is, well, kind of ridiculous, don’t you think? Institutions saving the cost of employing a service representative transferred their burden to me, costing me hundreds of hours spent either on the phone or lying in bed at 2AM worrying.

Ironically, Bank of America is the one institution that has been unfailingly transparent and easy to navigate, providing me with a human whom I call my case manager. The website provided me with a list of everything I needed to prepare for each appointment with her, easily accessed with the most basic of search terms. It scheduled my appointments. She then walked me through the maze of bureaucracy, following up at each step, sympathizing with my frustration over my treatment by the other institutions I had to deal with. 

I’m definitely not alone in my frustration at being dehumanized by a system that is incapable of empathy, all in the name of corporate profit or government “efficiency.” The National Customer Rage Survey released this past spring reported that 74% of consumers expressed frustration in dealing with a service or product, most of them complaining about having to endure a chain of prompts before ever getting to speak to a representative. Automated customer-service systems have been marketed as an improvement, a way to empower customers to find the information they need quickly, twenty-four seven. In reality, they’re just a cost saving strategy and a pain the ass for consumers.  

No wonder our faith in institutions, including all levels of government, has eroded in the last two decades. We focus so much on the corrosive effect that social media has played in destroying our sense of shared humanity and community. But a great deal of the blame also goes to automated customer service, to the sense of invisibility one feels in the midst of struggling with real human needs, unseen, unheard, alone. 

With automation taking an ever-greater role in modern life through the development of ever-more sophisticated chatbots, it behooves us to fight for those employees who are warning us of the cost to society of AI. We need to listen to the mental health professionals who decry the epidemic of loneliness and cynicism in modern America caused by our increasing isolation behind screens, accelerated by the pandemic, yes, but also encouraged by corporate consolidation and citizen resistance to paying more government employees. 

Filling out those surveys asking about my customer experience after each futile call, I do not blame the representative. I make it clear that my frustration is with the institution’s effort to pigeonhole my problem, transfer its costs to me, evade responsibility for solving my problem. I urge you to do the same.