#humaningishard

The other day I had an interaction on the phone that outlines well the reasons I had to practice (extensively) for literally years not to be that weirdo who makes a call only to gasp and hang up in panic, and the one who will spend twenty minutes on an email rather than make a two minute call. I almost cut people who couldn’t or wouldn’t text right out of my life because the thought of exchanging voice sounds over a faceless connection in order to convey an interactive message was enough to make me throw up.

But, there are certain people you can’t cut out of your life because they are a business (thanks capitalism) and require in person or telephone confirmation of certain requests. So, I had to learn to make some damn phone calls, and the other day I made it through a call in one piece that before would have brought me to gulpy, gasping, unintelligible tears. I had to call a company whose credit card I had cancelled two years ago because I received a statement from them.

“Thank you for calling COMPANY NAME. Please enter your 16-digit credit card number.”

Lucky for me, the card number was on the statement. I typed it in, waited, and nothing happened. So I pressed pound. Hashtag I’m done, right? But then the automated voice said,

“I’m sorry, we did not understand. Please enter your 16-digit card number.”

We? I understood fine! So I entered the SIXTEEN digit number again. Did not hashtag my request. Was met on the other end with silence.

“Goddamn, what. Take my number. Is this not working because I cancelled the card two years ago? How do I talk to someone? Frick, I’m talking to no one. You guys better not record calls before an operative picks up.”

I entered the card number again, and at this point had the damn thing memorized. Waited, silence. Pressed pound. Received “did not understand” message. Slammed fist on table.

“Fuck sakes! Will my use of expletives transfer me to a real person?” No, that was not the case. I started to feel trapped. In utter desperation, I tried the number twice more, and then angrily shouted the number at my phone screen. Lo and behold, by enter, the automated lady meant “scream”. I was transferred to an agent. I’m not sure if it was the number that did it or the pure volume or cutting edge to my voice that did it. We went through the somewhat familiar and manageable identity verification exchange. And then:

“So what can I help you with?”

“Yeah, I um, I received a statement for this card in the mail today, but I cancelled it two years ago, so…”

“Are you sure you want to cancel the card?”

What? My heart skipped a beat. This was already going badly. Are you listening to me? Literally the worst (and practically only) thing you can do wrong on a phone call is not listen. “No, I mean, it’s already cancelled. I cancelled it two years ago. That’s why I’m not sure why I received this statement.”

“The card on file is currently active. Would you like us to mail you out a card?”

What part of cancelled wasn’t meaning I don’t want it? “No. I already had one, but I cancelled it and now I don’t have it anymore.” My palms were sweating now. Remember what you’re here for.

“Did you recently change your address? Maybe that is why you didn’t receive the card. Would you like us to send you a new one?”

I can’t do this. What is happening. Is he using a script? He must be using a script, and they don’t have a response prepared for this situation. Oh god. I have to try to force him off script. I worked to keep my breath from making weird sounds on the other end as though I were running or boinking or panicking. “No. I don’t want the card. This card should be cancelled. I already cancelled it two years ago. I had the card, and then I didn’t want it, so I cancelled it. And then I cut it up because I heard that’s what you do to cancelled credit cards. Please just have it reflect in your system that this card is cancelled.” If I’m thorough and repetitive enough, things will happen. Everything will be okay.

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep the card?”

“I DON’T HAVE THE- cough- I don’t have the card anymore and I don’t want a new one. I cancelled this a long time ago, please just make your system say that also.”

“Okay, we respect your decision to cancel this card and will-” he started giving me the cancellation spiel, and I stopped listening as I grew excited. He’d managed to get himself back on track, using the script! I wanted to high five him. I also wanted to tell him they sure hadn’t respected my decision to cancel two years ago because I had already done this song and dance during a time when singing and dancing was a lot harder for me, but I digressed before uttering anything and waited on tenterhooks for him to say hashtag cancelled. That confirmation didn’t really come, and I realized we were sitting in a painful, almost tangible silence as we both waited for a necessary response from the other. Was the card cancelled?

“So….. It’s cancelled now?”

“Yes, the card is cancelled.”

“We did it, buddy!”

“What?”

“Nothing. Thank you. Have a good day. Goodbye.”