THE CURRENT MINI-SPAT in the British papers over the rationing of toilet breaks in call centres reminds me of my attempt to join British Telecom’s directory enquiries team a few years ago.
Freelance literary work had dried up and I was looking for any job to keep the money coming in. I’d signed up with Manpower and they got me onto the BT training scheme.
We were organised by a very nice lady whose name I have forgotten, and were supplied with our own locker, key, headset, manuals and, most importantly of all, security swipe card so that we could get into and out of the building.
Training involved reading manuals, doing exercises, attending a couple of sessions on customer service (one of which strangely involving Maslow’s “hierarchy of needs”), and lots of practice on the computers. When a call came through you had to select from different databases depending on whether the caller wanted a private number of a business one. The details are now vague, but I do recall thinking that the whole system was needlessly complicated.
The overriding aim was to locate the correct number as quickly as possible, hit the button and let the system answer the customer automatically while you got on to the next caller. There was an almost psychotic demand to do everything as quickly as possible.
However, the worst thing you could do, the biggest sin of all, was to “zed” somebody. This meant hitting the Z button because you couldn’t find the correct number – when that number actually existed. Again, the customer would get an automated reply. Not one they wanted.
I cannot convey the horror that zedding aroused in the professionals of that call centre; the intensity of the response was almost religious.
I managed to cope with most of the training but I was having trouble hearing people clearly. This gradual deterioration of my hearing was quite natural (although my wife still considers it deliberate and optional) and I was unsure that I’d get through the final test, which involved going live with unsuspecting members of the public while also being constantly audited by the examiners.
It went badly. I took ages answering one customer because I had misheard what he said. Other calls were OK. But then I committed the unforgiveable sin and zedded someone. I swear the whole building went silent with shock.
What happened next was like something from an old film in which a soldier is drummed out of the army. He stands alone, humiliated, while the commanding officer rips the epaulettes and badges from his uniform, then takes his sword and snaps it in two over his knee. In my case I was marched hastily back to the training room. There, I had to collect my belongings from my locker, hand back my key, headset, manuals and swipe card. I was then escorted – and I do mean escorted – to the exit and ejected.
I can’t say I was upset. In truth I was rather relieved. At least I’d been paid while being trained. And I wouldn’t have to worry about toilet breaks.
