It’s Sunday morning; I’ve been up since 4:00 AM. Well, make that 3:00 AM… I set a few clocks back an hour due to the end of Daylight Saving Time. Why am I up? I’ve been sick the last week. It seems that as soon as we got back from Florida, I decided to come down with some kind of nasal and/or throat infection. Or it could be just one heckuva cold.
What I do know is that this isn’t exactly my idea of a good time. Nose constantly running until the skin around it is raw from excessive blowing, trying to breathe slowly and steadily to sleep but instead coughing up loads of yuck every few minutes. Following people’s advice and drinking plenty of fluids, only to be getting in and out of bed like a pogo stick – because I’ve been drinking plenty of fluids.
Yesterday I woke up with a voice reminiscent of Andy Devine. Or maybe that of when a young male is going through puberty when his voice is changing, hitting a lower register and then shifting gears in mid-sentence and squeaking at a higher octave. This is humorous to the casual bystander, but an emotional disaster to an employee of the United States Postal Service.
We have a phone number to call when we are sick and need the day off. Like just about everything else these days, it’s an automated system. And, one should note, because it’s a system affiliated with the Federal Government – it’s not a very good one!
You start out listening to a menu of selections, of which the option I want is number four. “Press or say four.” At this point with my voice, it’s much easier to press a button than to squeak an answer. Then you get to listen to a spiel about the Privacy Act, and can press a button if you’d like to hear the whole damned story. No thank you! I just want to get on with things and get back to bed.
Next up, it’s “press or say” your employee identification number. Again my finger does the dirty work. After entering the eight-digit code, the machine recites back the information and then asks if it’s correct. There’s a new wrinkle added… there’s no longer an option to respond by pushing a number. From this point forward, every response is verbal, which is just peachy if you sound like I currently do. You might as well just hang up if you’ve got full blown laryngitis!
You’re asked what kind of leave you need (annual, emergency or sick leave). Then you go through a myriad of questions pertaining to whether this is your condition, if you’re a veteran exposed to certain elements or conditions (or if you’re caring for a veteran with these conditions).
You almost have to loop through this line of questioning a couple of times. The machine rewords the questions because… well, I don’t know… maybe I was too stupid to answer correctly the first time around and deserve a second chance. After all this cross-examination is over, you’re then again asked what kind of leave you want. Didn’t we already do this a couple of minutes ago?
Remember in all this that I have to speak my answers; there’s no merciful option of pushing a button for “yes” or “no” anymore. Also keep in mind that I can’t talk without my voice cracking, switching octaves or just fading out halfway through a word. The machine can’t understand what I’m saying, and says things like “I didn’t get that,” and then it gives you the answer options for the question again.
I try to yell into the phone, hoping the volume increase will aid the machine’s comprehension. The more I yell, the less volume I actually put out. Beautiful. I’ve found that when I’m sick and have to use this line that by the time all is said and done, my blood pressure is dangerously high and I’m on the verge of having a stroke.
“Well isn’t there the option of talking to a real person” I hear someone asking? No. At least that’s what they want you to think. The option to talk to a live person is never offered, but as I found out years ago with a particularly bad phone connection if you have enough responses that the machine can’t understand, you will finally be transferred over to a real living, breathing human being.
I had made it all the way through the ordeal, trying to answer the questions and then not being understood and having to re-answer the questions right up until the very last one. It finally gave up on me and transferred me to an operator. Thank you, God! I can say, “I’m sick” and be done with this. Nope. That’s not how it works here in Government-land.
“I need 8 hours of sick leave, starting today,” I said.
“I’m sorry, Sir… but I have to read the script just as if you were talking to the automated system.”
“Fine. I got through right up until the very last question.”
“I’m sorry, but I have to start from the very beginning and go through each step.”
And this is where the story ends. We went through the script, and I responded when asked to, and was understood. Sadly, the human on the other end wasn’t allowed to think for herself, or we could have saved about four to five minutes of unnecessary script reading.
This is a sad commentary on where we, as a country, have gone. The personal touch is almost nonexistent, and when you do encounter a human being – how often do they have to go through a script or routine, because they can’t be “trusted” to obtain answers or results through their own initiative?
To the companies that still have receptionists answering the calls, fielding questions and directing callers to the proper extension – I sincerely thank you from the bottom of my heart!
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