ChuckDoherty.com

Why do I put myself through ordeals that I KNOW in advance that I will not enjoy? Case in point: I just returned from a trip to the local WalMart in the futile search for an XBox (which seem to be in short supply these days). But even if I had found what I was looking for, the trip to and through that awful retail wasteland still would have been depressing. From the underpaid employees staffing the store, to the sea of people clogging the checkout lines, and on through the blaring minivan alarm in the messy parking lot, the experience of visiting a WalMart provides nothing but adgita to all concerned.

Speaking of retail experiences, I have noticed that it has become fashionable to put the customer through the third degree at checkout time. One of the worst offenders at this is Barnes & Noble, where every purchase results in at least two questions. The first is; “Do you have a B&N savings card?” My occasional, pissey-mood answer to this question is; “If I had one, I would have given it to you.” (I don’t even like the concept behind these cards – the idea of charging a fee to permit discounts doesn’t sit right with me to begin with.)

The second questions is becoming all-too-frequent these days, and that is; “Did you find everything you were looking for?” In a bookstore, the question is meaningless since almost everyone visits a bookstore to browse, not to look for something specific. What answer do they expect? “Well, I was looking for something thrilling yet romantic, with a strong lead character and a tightly paced backstory. Perhaps with a monkey.”

I was asked that same question recently at a grocery store. What could I say to that? “Actually I was looking for some bananas that curve this way, but all of the ones you have curve that way.” You know that the cashier couldn’t give a rat’s ass whether or not I found what I was looking for; they are just trained to ask the question without expecting a reply.

What we are seeing are misguided attempts to improve customer service by changing the impression of service, not by actually doing anything meaningful about it. Here’s how it works; someone in the corporate office approves $3,500 for a five-day Tom Peters seminar in Orlando, and then whoever attends feels as though they need to show that the money was well spent so they can go to another seminar next year. So, they come back and hold a meeting on how to improve customer service and start by having all of the customer service telephone operators change the way that they answer the phone to; “Hello, Acme Corporation, how may I provide you with excellent service today?” (Sprint was actually doing this last year). One high-end hotel chain answers each call with; “How may I exceed your expectations?” Well, first of all you can drop that meaningless shtick and talk to me like a human. That’s my expectation – no need to “exceed it”; just meet it. And don’t give me any of that passive-aggressive “How may I direct your call?” stuff either. That sounds helpful, but actually means “I can’t or won’t do anything personally to help you, so you had better know who can or you are screwed.”

You can’t mandate good customer service with phrases and slogans. You either have it or you don’t, and it comes from the top down. You sure as hell don’t improve customer service by doing what one local auto dealer does, which is to write or call in advance of the post-service follow-up call from the manufacturer to make sure that you will report every facet of your experience “Excellent” and heap high praise upon them. They offer to fix any post-service problem or complaint you have, not because they want you happy but because they don’t want you diming them out to the manufacturer. They are just playing to the survey, not to any real attempt at improving service.

I flew home from Colorado Springs via Cincinnati for a change; I usually fly through Atlanta. Even though this route is more direct and faster than going through Atlanta, the plane is a commuter jet vs. a nice roomy 737-800 with a first-class cabin and video entertainment. Spending more than two hours in the small one is no treat, and I am convinced that the added comfort of the full-sized jet is well worth an extra hour of travel time.

On the last leg of the trip, from Cincinnati to Providence, I met a high-strung yet gregarious soldier from Louisiana, (Remember Pyle in Full Metal Jacket?) traveling from Baghdad to Providence to meet wife-to-be; for the first time. He explained that they met in internet chat room and soon struck up a relationship, exchanged some photos, and eventually made marriage plans and here he was flying in to meet her in person. Sure, this has all the makings of a very romantic encounter, but let’s be real – it also held the potential for disaster.

I could imagine two possible bad outcomes. The first involves him discovering that she had Photoshopped about 200lbs off her photos or had some similar surprise in store (“Oh, I didn’t tell you about the hook? Or the iron lung? Silly me.”)

The second sort of bad ending would be seeing this hapless soldier waiting by baggage claim for someone who never arrives and hearing this heartbreaking sound while some 13-year-old boy responsible for what, admittedly, would have been a very creative prank, watches from a distance.

Fortunately for all concerned the gal was indeed real, and turned out to be not at all bad looking. Good luck to them both.

People have developed standard methods of handling common activities over the years, and it makes life much easier for all concerned. For example; no matter where you go, a red traffic signal indicates stop. If you travel over the state line into Ohio, you aren’t suddenly confronted with traffic signals that use blue for stop and play a b# note from an oboe to indicate a crosswalk. It is all the same everywhere you go, with only the most minor differences. Likewise with cars; it doesn’t matter if you get into a Ford, Chevy or Vauxhall, you already know that the round thing in front of you is for steering, and that there is some sort of pedal down on the floor that makes it go, along with another that brings it to a stop. So, since basic standardization like this is not only possible but actually easy to accomplish, why can’t the major phone companies – both landline and cellular – simply agree on a few simple standards too?

Consider this: when you place a phone call to someone (and for the sake of this discussion, let’s consider a standard person-to-person call – nothing fancy), one of two things will happen; either the person you call will answer the phone or they will not. If they don’t answer the phone, more than likely you will get to some sort of voice mail/answering machine where you can leave them a message. Here’s where the entire process goes straight to Hell in a rusty bucket.

Remember the old days? You would typically be greeted with a message like this; “Hello, this is Jim Rockford. I can’t answer the phone right now, so please leave a message after the beep.” ….[BEEP]. Even back in those early days of open-reel answering machines and sturdy Bell Telephone phones, you knew what to do. The beep sounded, you talked, and you hung up. Mission accomplished.

Even now, no matter how many fancy options may be available on a new fangled voice mail system, 99% of the time you want to leave a message and get on with your life. So why is it so much more difficult to do so now than it was in 1979? More than anything else, the problem lies with the assumption by most phone companies that we are all too stupid to leave a message, and need to be told – each and every time we call – how to do so. And more often than not, it’s that same damn woman’s voice telling you about it. Some phone companies are a bit more up-market and use Stephen Hawkins to give the instructions, but usually it is that woman who ‘splains that to leave a message you must wait for the beep. But she’s not done yet, oh no. After she catches her breath, she reviews the various options that you have available when you are finished. And just when you think there could not possibly be another tidbit of information she could add, she goes on to tell you how to leave a callback number.

Perhaps, in some corner of the telecommunications world, someone actually uses one of these myriad options. It may also be the case that there is someone out there who does not understand the significance of the beep or how to leave a message. But for all but a tiny few, this information is useless and eats into the few precious moments we have left in our lives. Time we will all want to have back some day.

So, here’s my proposal: let’s have all of the major carriers get together and agree on a key – any key, just let them choose one – that when pressed will bypass all of the preamble and bring you right to the beep where you can leave your message and go about your business. Most systems have this feature now, but it is a crap shoot guessing which key they use. For example, the voice mail in my office uses a “1″ to bring you right to the beep. But my cellular carrier (AT&T) uses the “*” (or is it “#” – I forget). Press the wrong button, and you either get to listen to the greeting again, or get directed to some user menu where it wants a password.

I am not proposing anything too outlandish, just some consistency with commands and options that would make everyone’s life easier.

Yesterday I got suckered in while scanning the unfamiliar landscape of the local radio dial in Pueblo. In search of something listenable, I stumbled upon some sort of not-objectionable orchestral piece, although in hindsight the John Tech-esque arrangement should have served as a shot across my bow. Still, I ignored the little voice in the back of my head whispering “turn the dial – this can’t be good for you” and listened along until the station break. Only then did I learn that I was listening to what billed itself as a “Light Praise” station. I assume the Light Praise format is based on a musical mix that incorporates a bit less brimstone, but with all of the superstition you have come to expect in your religious broadcasts.

These stations usually telegraph their intentions in the first few bars of a song, often by having male singers that refer to “Him” a bit more than you would expect from a straight performer. But this instrumental piece lured me in, oh yes it did, and the next thing you know I had let a good three or four minutes of it get into my synapses. Now, it will probably lie dormant until a whispered codeword on the radio turns me into some sort of Manchurian Candidate for Jesus. Watch out, infidels.

I know that I won’t garner a great deal of sympathy from the folks back home in the northeast by crying the blues about the temperature here dipping into the 30′s today. Especially not when I have been spoiled by record-high temperatures earlier in the week, with Thursday topping 72. But nevertheless, it is colder now and more typical of the average winter temperatures. Back in RI, the snow is falling. If I play my cards right, the snow will have come and gone by the time I get back.

I’m sure that by now you have received many phishing emails, where someone tries to get you to visit a website and divulge credit card and/or password information, often under the guise of a bank that is confirming your identity. Some of these mails are fairly well polished and official looking. That was not the case with one that I received today, which reads:

Dear user.
To your information: you must check your parity of the account to given e-mail. Please click on this reference: [bizarre link]
Otherwise we stop temporarily service of your account.”

I think it fair to say that anyone who responds to this message is probably not level-headed enough to handle their own finances anyway, and might be better off if some email scammer in Trashcanistan takes it all away from them.

Up at 4AM for a pre-dawn trip from Pueblo to Colorado Springs to catch a 7AM flight. Midway through the 45-minute drive, while I was still far enough outside of Colorado Springs that I could not see its lights, I came upon a single piercing light almost directly ahead on the horizon. After a few minutes I reached the source and discovered it to be the headlight of a freight train lumbering south on the tracks parallel to the highway. What an eerie feeling it was to think there was nothing but me and that train for miles around. It made me realize just how far away from civilization you can find yourself after a very short drive in that part of the country, even on a major interstate highway. Head down one of the secondary roads and there is often nothing for miles and miles. If you should drive off the road some dark night and end up in a ditch you are well and truly screwed. The CVS Samaritan van is not stopping by any time soon with hot cocoa for you to sip while waiting for a local tow truck to haul your sorry ass out. For the folks who live in that part of the country, the idea of driving a 4WD SUV or big ol’ truck makes a good deal of sense.

I finished my day by taking the 6PM train into Boston to see my friend Walter, and came back on the midnight train out of Back Bay Station. All told there were two planes, three trains (counting the one inside Hartsfield Airport) and four automobiles involved in the day’s travel.

After so many trips to and from Atlanta recently, I am pretty confident that if the pilot ever asked me to help, I could direct him from Atlanta to Providence using only a compass and a watch, and once we got near Chesapeake Bay I wouldn’t even need those.

Drove to Colorado Springs and visited The Garden of the Gods near Pike’s Peak. You know those Road Runner cartoons with huge boulders perched precariously on top of much smaller ones? This is where they come from (click picture below.)

Signs along the trails warns visitors not to get close to any little critters that you may encounter, since they may be carrying The Plague. That’s right; The Plague. Not just rabies; no no. Plague.

I ventured into lovely Manitou Springs while I was there and discovered an entire economy based upon the manufacture and sale of chainsaw sculptures of bears. I wouldn’t mind having one but they are surprisingly difficult to pack, especially the full-sized ones. Speaking of bears, I saw several state trucks towing bear-relocation trailers cruising down the highway, each replete with sturdy winches for dragging their drugged charges into the back for the long ride to their new home. It reminds you that in much of the country, humans are still in the middle of the food chain.

Not that I want to have this happen to me anytime soon, but the whole Death by Bear concept seems like a rather cool way to go, doesn’t it? “What ever happened to Chuck?” “Oh, he was eaten by a bear.” “Wow.” Folks would remember you for that. It is certainly a lot more machismo of a way to check out than the usual, boring stuff like dying from an opportunistic infection following gallbladder surgery.

Here’s my request: if I ever get so sick that the Grim Reaper is standing over me, tapping his foot and looking at his watch, please fly me out to Colorado, smear me with honey and leave me in the woods sitting on a wicker picnic basket. Two days later when what remains of me is fertilizing pine trees, my friends can reverently share stories about my brave final moments. They might even commission a statue.

After spending the night in Colorado Springs, I drove up to meet my friends Julie and Alan for lunch in Denver. Being an early riser and having a few hours to kill, I took a jaunt to Boulder first. What a lovely town. The Hotel Boulderado is a magnificent old warhorse from the golden age of grand hotels with a lobby that is worth the trip to see. The area surrounding this was the setting for many of the exterior shots in Mork & Mindy, and it has a real working downtown feel despite a puzzlingly large number of vacant or soon-to-be-vacant businesses. But windy, Oy!

Each time that I am out there and think that I have seen the most spectacular vista imaginable, I come around a turn or crest a hill to discover another sight that is even more awe-inspiring.

Bose QuietComfort 2 noise canceling headphones are worth their weight in gold when flying on the Colicky Baby Express, as I found myself doing from Atlanta to Colorado Springs today. Scream away, little one.