September 29, 2004
The OneSwitch Experience
My tolerance for stupid people has dropped to an all-time low. My work hours are long, my time is limited and getting tasks finished is priority one.
Tonight, I carved out some time to switch all of our magazines from Massachusetts to Vermont. There are probably close to 20 subscriptions arriving each month, counting comic books. So I was really pleased to find the OneSwitch ad in our moving coupon book.
OneSwitch claims to be able to move all of your subscriptions painlessly, and I gave them a try. At the end of my experience, I can neither be sure that my magazines will be forwarded, nor report that my experience was painless.
So I go to OneSwitch.com and spend 15 minutes entering label data from all of my magazines. When I finish the last label, instead of an online confirmation that my magazines are switched, I get a screen with an "Authorization code" and a phone number. No joke, I have to finish the online process over the phone.
I call -- I really just want to get this over with -- and I'm connected to a woman named Lee with a mouth full of marbles who stumbles through her script. She has me reapeat to her over the phone everything that I've just typed in. But I do it because I've already come this far.
She asks for my "lead code" instead of an "authorization number" and I tense up, waiting for the sales pitch. But she again goes through the lengthy magazine list; confirming and re-confirming the titles. When she finally starts the pitch, Lee is halting and unsure of herself. I wait for a pause to confidently tell her "no"--and I'm so proud of myself for getting off easy. But at the last second, Lee throws me off track.
"I'm transferring you to my supervisor who can give you more details -- just one moment," she says. Before I can protest, a perky blonde with lip gloss on picks up the other end. They have a little scripted conspiratorial chat (telemarketing-sister to telemarketing-sister) while I listen in.
"Hi Kim, this is Lee in customer service. I have Tara on the line who wants to hear about our promotional offer."
Kim bobs her head in time to the John Tesh album on behind her and sighs with delight.
"Well thanks, Lee! Great job! And I'll see you later! How are you today, Tara? What a pretty name! So unusual. I've never met a Tara. You don't hear that name very much, do you?"
And then I'm with Kim. And Kim is dangerous.
Lee has spreading hips from her hours spent phone banking. Kim does pilates.
Lee will shrug and walk away if you shoot her a sarcastic comment. Kim will squint down her chiseled nose at you and make notes in your permanent file.
Lee has a job. Kim has a career.
It dawns on me, as Kim ruminates on the relative infrequency of my name within the US population with cheerleader vigor, that I'm dealing with the "closer." I have to take charge of the call or suffer through the extended-ending, special-edition, with-never-before-seen-footage version of the sales pitch I just heard. Kim is gonna sell me like her life depends on it.
But like she says, Kim has never met a Tara.
"So Tara, Lee made a mistake here and let's go through your magazines and make sure we've got them right. Okay?" She doesn't wait for my answer. "There's Esquire, now that goes to David, right?" I hear the smirk. This almost-porn goes to your husband, but you don't leave it out on the coffee table for the neighbors to see, do you?
I seize upon her pause.
"A mistake? What was Lee's mistake?" I say, with heartfelt mock concern for my piles of glossy paper.
"Oh, nothing awful," she pauses only for a moment to get off the script. "It's just that Lee is new. We were all new once, right?" she asks with a sunbeam of a smile. "And Electronic Gaming Monthly... of course that's David's too, right?"
This level 86 Diablo II Cold Sorceress does not appreciate the insinuation that EGM is for boys, but I ignore her and ask a question of my own: "Hey Kim? I get a lot of magazines, as you can see by the list in front of you. Do we have to go through all of them again? For the third time?"
"Oh sure!" she giggles. "We have to make sure they're right! Like I said, Lee is new. But we have to cut her some slack, 'cause she's new and we were all new once! Let's finish the process of switching these over to your new address. Now Time, that's David's too?"
She waits again. The fact that she's waiting makes me paranoid about saying "yes." As if she's recording my answers to cobble together an audiotape agreement to buy every magazine in print. "My name is Werner Brandes. My voice is my passport. Verify me." It strikes me as odd that she won't let me get a word in otherwise, but she'll wait ten full seconds for my "yes."
"So what you're saying, Kim, is that they aren't switched over yet? Becuase Lee said we were finished. You and I are supposed to be talking about a special promotion."
She pauses. The list is supposed to make me feel like we're finishing our business. She hasn't even hit the pitch yet and I'm objecting to the list being read. A little bit of the cheerleader dies inside Kim. Her next sentence is deliberate, measured.
"Tara, we have to get this list right. Okay? There are a few names on the list and we have to make sure that these magazines are all going to the right people." As if, when the Nick Jr. Magazine arrives in the mailbox addressed to Dave instead of Trevor, Dave will scratch his head and start reading about The Wiggles, wondering why he subscribed to such a thing, but continuing to read nonetheless because his name is on it.
A brillant, time-saving idea dawns on me. I share it with Kim.
"How about if you just say "David" once, then read all the magazines that belong to him? Then we only have to say his name one time, instead of after each magazine."
I'm honestly trying to be helpful and speed up the process. I swear to you. I just want my magazines. Did I mention how much I love my magazines? Yeah, there might have been a little sarcasm in there, but I'm sarcastic ordering Alpine Lace swiss cheese from the deli counter. It's just me. But I have hit Kim's (shockingly low) tolerance limit. She knows I'm not buying what she's selling. Her voice drops an octave. I can hear half a pack a day in her throaty tone now.
"You know what? How about we just stop going through these. Your magazines are switched over and you're done. Good night."
Click.
Comments
Thats a truely inspiring tale of triumph over the true evil of marketing. *applauds* Sarcasm wins through.
Wow, my evil wife used her dark soul not to dominate the world, not to collect the wispy remains of the recently departed souls, but to transfer our magazine subscriptions.
I wonder what she could do about my cell phone bill?
ha ha cool post...
btw cool site also... :)
The service is not a rip off though. You can forward as many titles as you like with one phone call, I have 10 magazines, and to notify all of the publishers would take the better part of a day(and time is not something you have a lot of when you move.)The magazine offer is not a bad deal either.I, for one was grateful for the time they saved me. :)
Rick must work for oneswitch... i just had to sit through the whole 15 minute schpiel (how DO you spell that?) only to tell them that unless i can pay 4 bucks a month, i'm not doing it. Then the guy tells me he can take it down to 36 months. I repeat my answer. He takes it down to 24 months. I repeat my answer. He takes it down to 12 months. I say, 'Look Joseph, unless you guys can take it down to where I am paying 4 bucks a month for these magazines, I can't do it. He finally gives up, politely reminds me that the switch will take up to 12 weeks, wishes me a safe journey and then hangs up. These people... I sure hope my magazines get to me.
Go Tara! Thanks for finally shutting up one of those annoying know it all marketers!
That's so funny! I used to work at that place, it's called special data processing, it's in clearwater florida. Oneswitch is the shittiest department in the building, they send all the people who suck at the other stuff to work in oneswitch.