On Thursday, I had to call my mortgage company to verify some information. I found myself engaged with the automated answering program for a solid fifteen minutes.
Initially I was befuddled. When I had called their service number previously, my call was patched through to a representative within minutes. I did my best to navigate their menus, but couldn’t get myself to the right department. Strangest of all was that the computer wasn’t even giving me the option to speak to a flesh-and-blood employee.
Our conversation was growing increasingly circuitous, so when I got to the point where I was asked to bark out commands, I improvised. “Speak to a representative,” I said.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you’ve entered,” replied Patient Feminine Voice. “Would you like to try again?”
Thumbing through my mental thesaurus, I tried, “Speak to an associate.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you’ve entered.”
I was wary of using the term “agent”, because PFV had already asked me if I was an agent, which I am obviously not. With my limited knowledge of the local vernacular, I was running out of options.
Finally, having officially lost patience, I waited for her to ask me to try one more time. Mirroring her measured monotone, I said, “I want to speak to a fucking human being.”
A brief pause. “Okay. One moment, please. I’ll connect you to a representative.”
Apparently, my mortgage company had someone very smart programming their service software.