By Jim Hagarty
1992
The other day, I phoned a company and my call was promptly answered by a recording.
“Thank you for calling,” oozed a calm, male voice, which was all business and not given to much idle chat. “Here are your options for moving onto the next stage,” the voice said, before detailing five choices I had. If I had a question about my bill, I was to press one, a complaint about service, press two, a request for information, press three, etc.
I immediately felt myself tense up as I was now part of some sort of test I hadn’t been expecting. It seemed almost as if I was on one of those TV game shows where you have only so many seconds to make your picks. “I’ll take underwater photography, for $500, Clint!” You know the kind.
Reviewing my five choices, I realized they were all slightly fuzzy in their description. My problem could have fit almost any one of the five. I took a chance and pressed two.
“Thank you,” I was congratulated by the voice. Now it was time to move on. Here was my new “menu”, I was told. Four more choices. All of them a little more specific than the first stage but no less threatening. I pulled out a finger and took a stab at number three.
More congratulations from the voice followed, and then, another menu. If this was a board game, I would have just passed go and picked up $200. As it was, I chose number four.
Finally, another recorded voice, this time female, assured me that help of the “live” kind was on its way. As soon as a worker was free, my call would be taken. Now, soothing recorded music floated over the phone and every 30 seconds or so, the female voice returned to caution me not to get discouraged. Someone would be with me soon.
Finally, a real human being answered, gave me her name, and very pleasantly guided me through my request for help.
All was well that ended well.
Until the next day, when I remembered something I had forgotten to ask the woman I was talking to. But, given this modern technology, I realized she was like a pleasant dream you try, in vain, to remember the details of after you wake in the morning. She was gone and I may as well forget her.
I called back. Went through the menus and the options, this time like a pinball wizard learning the right bounces on a new machine. But the woman of the first day was gone, replaced by an equally pleasant woman, though I realize now, that she is probably gone forever too.
This is all such a far cry from the days before “menus” and “touch tones” and “digital this” and “laser that.” But I suppose it’s on its way to all of us, ready or not.
Surely it won’t be long before most home phones are answered by a professionally recorded voice: “Thank you for calling. To proceed to the next stage, please listen to the following options and press the number of your choice. If you’re a friend or relative, press one. If you’re a salesperson, press two. If you’re a bill collector, press three. If you’re my employer, press four.”
And for those who press one:
“If you’re a cousin, press one. If you’re an aunt or uncle, press two. If you’re a wife or husband, press three. If you’re a daughter or son, press four. If you are a mother or father, press five.”
And when five is pressed . . .
“Thank you. Please hold. The first available son or daughter will take your call momentarily.”
