An Irishman's Diary

WHENEVER you ring a customer service line these days, the last thing you expect to hear is a live person at the other end of …

WHENEVER you ring a customer service line these days, the last thing you expect to hear is a live person at the other end of the phone., writes Frank McNally

Automated answering systems are advancing on all fronts, and the last pockets of human resistance will be wiped out soon. It can't be long before airport control towers succumb to the trend, offering incoming pilots a menu of options from which they can choose the one that best suits their requirements, eg: "If you need to make an emergency landing, press 1 now. . ."

But almost alone among the service providers I deal with regularly, and for no apparent reason, Dublin's car clampers continue to offer the human touch. In my experience, you can always get through to the number they leave on your windscreen, without delay. And after a minimal automated preamble, you will then invariably be transferred to a living, breathing company representative.

Whereupon, with unfailing politeness, the representative will ask you how he can help; even though he already has a very good idea how he can help, because the range of services he offers is not exactly wide.

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The problem is, on these of all occasions, you don't want to talk to a real person. When your car has just been clamped, chances are you are not at your most sociable. At worst you may be seething with rage. At best, you may be feeling worn down by the pressures of urban life, having had another momentary lapse of concentration punished so ruthlessly by the flying columns of City Hall.

Of course some people are relentlessly convivial, even with clampers. I have a colleague who has been caught by them so often, I suspect he has a loyalty card and gets special offers in the post: "Two parking offences for the price of one - this month only". Yet he never fails to be cheerful with his tormenters. "You rascals - you got me again," he will rib them, handing over his details for the umpteenth time.

But such an approach requires great personal warmth. Unfortunately, I must number myself among the baser majority, whose responses would tend towards the angry or sarcastic, except that we know the person on the other end of the line is an innocent functionary, who is not paid nearly enough to listen to complaints from the likes of us.

Besides, the automated preamble has already warned, in that sinister but ubiquitous phrase, that our call may be recorded for training purposes. It's uncomfortable enough to think about strangers in a classroom listening to our disembodied voice. But nobody wants to become a special case study, a text-book classic, whose tirade will be entertaining student clampers for generations to come.

On the other hand, we certainly don't feel like making friendly small talk. So we opt instead for a studied, icy neutrality: the tone of voice driving testers use when they announce that you have not been successful on this occasion, after your three-point-turn collided with the Luas. And this only adds to the strain of the occasion for everyone.

There is no need for human interaction in these circumstances, anyway. They know where your car is: they've found it already. All they require now is your registration and credit card numbers, information that is ideally suited to transmission by touch-tone phone. For your part, all you want to know, and all the real person ever tells you, is that your car will be released as soon as possible.

So this is one of the few areas of public life that could be improved by complete automation. Voice-activated, preferably. Then the clampee could freely express his frustrations, using colourful phrases that would confuse the computerised voice at the other end. It would be a cathartic experience for the victim, without making anyone else's life miserable.

Of course there may be good reasons to retain the human presence. I hear that clampers make mistakes occasionally and may relent on appeal, although I have never seen this happen. At any rate, the personal touch may be essential to the self-image of a company that does, in all seriousness, present itself as offering help to those it punishes.

Clamper vans bear the pleasant name "Dublin Street Parking Service" - the initials of which make it sound like one of those organisations that prevent cruelty. The corporate slogan is: "Promoting Sensible Parking". And the company website speaks of an "ongoing public awareness and education campaign", while also inviting "customer feedback".

So maybe the humans at the end of the phone have a missionary role. And yet, in all the times I have had to call their helpline, I have never yet sensed any interest on their part in reforming me, or any reluctance to take my money. After all, they call us "customers" rather than "recidivist offenders", which would be more logical.

Now and again, we might benefit from being taken aside and given a stern talking-to - something along these lines: "Well, all right, Frank, we'll let you away with the usual fine on this occasion. But it's the third time you've been in with us this year. So you must promise to avoid loading bays in future. Or the next time, we really will have no choice but to talk to your parents."