Forget about the new trend of visiting smash rooms to relieve stress and anxiety.
I invite North Coast residents to rather join a new torture activist group I am determined to establish. We can call it the “North Coast Avengers” or something – I’m open to more creative suggestions.
It will be the real thing, targeting a specific common enemy – those ruthless company and government department leaders willfully subjecting us to psychological torment when we need to contact their “service champions” to solve our pressing queries or problems.
Technology has weaponised them to slowly – never rapidly – wear annoying customers down until they hopefully capitulate and go away.
The torture chamber they force you to enter when dialing their numbers is called the Call Centre – a dark, deep state environment of hellish gnashing of teeth from which there is no escape.
The process is cunningly designed to steadily reel you in for the punishment to follow.
“Welcome to the InEptitude Corporation…” a deceptively soothing, silky voice eases you into the hall of horrors… “please have your account number ready so we can best assist you,” Silky Voice encourages in an almost amorous tone. She must be flippen sexy.
“If your query relates to this, press 1. If it is about that, press 2…” (and so on until option 7). You select the appropriate number. Relief is close at hand no doubt, but sensual Ms Silk is not done yet.
“For account queries, press 1, for contract enquiries, press 2… (and so on, again until option 7). Despairingly you no longer press, but aggressively stab in the number.
Alas, your hope for actual human contact evaporates. Silky Voice now transfers you to the music portal where your senses are pummelled by cracking elevator muzak.
The intention is to reduce your escalating aggro levels a notch, but it does exactly the opposite.
The sexy one cuts back in just in time to prevent you from uttering strange noises, but then spins the big con.
“Thank you for your patience, your call is important to us….” They lie through their teeth!
They’d rather you spare them another complaint or problem and not interfere with their coffee and biscuit breaks.
More infuriating muzak. You now begin shouting aggressive-sounding Latin phrases into your phone.
Silky Voice returns with a new ruse.
The sycophantic vixen is no doubt a wannabee therapist.
“We are unfortunately experiencing heavy call volumes, but a service champion will attend to you as soon as possible. Did you know, by migrating to an InEptitute Super Duper package….” After the long-winded promotional claptrap, it is back to the maddening muzak maestros once more.
With no other conclusion that your service champion is now long deceased and in decomposition, you surrender after 40 minutes or so to fight another day.
But here is a drastic solution (wishful as it may be). Company CEOs, MDs and such never phone their own Call Centres. They don’t have to.
But to make them share the pain, the “NC Avengers” will identify, kidnap and tie them up in a room, telling them to phone their Call Centres.
Their posteriors are then whipped with a cat o’ nine tails every minute they wait to reach their own service champions.
That should instantly grab their attention.
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