WORKING from home, I am now answering endless work calls. One lady I spoke to sounded very exasperated indeed.

“Hello. Hello. Hello.”

“Good afternoon, can I help you?” I offered.

“Ahhh...” She gave a huge sigh of relief.

“A human at last!”

Apparently, her previous attempts to speak to someone at various businesses had led her to automated messages, causing her a great deal of frustration.

Finally, having an ear to listen to her woes, she continued to rant about how she hated automated voice systems, poor communication and, worst of all, call centres.

But having worked for an eight-week period in a call centre some years back, it was not all plain sailing when the shoe was on the other foot!

My job was to arrange customer deliveries from Argos, and after two days of intensive training, I nervously dialled my first customer who was in Wales.

“Good evening, my name is Janice from Argos and I am calling to arrange delivery of your item, may I speak to Mrs Davies?”

“Speaking,” replied a heavy Welsh accent.

“Hello Mrs Davies, I am calling to arrange delivery of your sofa bed. Can you confirm your address is...?”

“That’s correct,” she replied.

“Are there any special instructions for the delivery driver?”

“Yes, could you ask him not to beep his horn as my husband is on night shift?”

“Err, no Mrs Davies, I meant are there any special instructions for the delivery driver in case he has difficulty locating your home.”

“Well, you could tell him we’re on the same side of the road as the church.”

“Which church is that Mrs Davies?” I patiently enquired.

“The one down the road from the chip shop.”

Take a deep breath Janice.

“And which chip shop would that be Mrs Davies?”

“The one we always go to next to the barbers.”

“Sorry Mrs Davies, that’s not much help”

“Well, I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure the driver will find it with the SatNav.”

Wow, that was more difficult than I imagined, but surely it will be easier tomorrow when I switch to taking orders rather than dispatching them...

But no.

My screen flashes with an incoming call and adopting my best telephone voice I begin my spiel: “Hello, welcome to Argos. My name is Janice. May I take your name please?”

My first customer mumbled what I later discovered was Mrs McSweeney, but I just couldn’t make her out.

“Sorry. I didn’t quite catch that. Mrs Mc what?”

“Mrs McS...”

Nope, I didn’t catch that either.

“Sorry, but could you spell it out for me please?” I pleaded, as her high-pitched Highland twang quickly put me in my place.

“You’d think in your job you’d be capable of spelling,” she scolded.

I patiently hold my shush and my fingers are poised over the keyboard as Mrs McS begins her unique version of the phonetic alphabet.

“It’s M for mother. C for cow... and that’s a wee one by the way.”

“A wee cow?” I asked.

“Naw,” replied an exasperated Mrs McS.

“I mean a wee letter ‘c’” she narked, now trying hard to remember what letter came after c.

“And... s for sausages.

“W is for Wullie, as in Oor Wullie.” That’s a new one.

My shoulders were involuntarily shoogling with laughter.

“E for Easter,” she continued.

“E for Easter again.”

Mrs McSwee was on a roll until…

“N for knitting.”

I clasped my hands over the mouthpiece as tears rolled down my cheeks.

“And emmmm…. E is for whatever I said E was for the last time. And Y is for... em, em.”

A long pause until….

“Eh. Ah cannae think of anything beginning with a Y.”

I tried to compose myself.

“It’s OK Mrs McSweeney. Thank you.”

Inside I was thinking, I bet Mrs McSweeney wishes her name was as simple as mine.

“Now Mrs McSweeney. What’s the catalogue number of your item please?” I inquire.

“It’s number 555... 272.”

I type in the number. “Ah yes, a black coffee table?”

“That’s the one,” confirms Mrs McSweeney. “Whit size is it again?”

“It’s 90cm wide and 45cms in height,” I answer.

“45cms?” she queries.

“Is that up to my knees?”

”I don’t know how long your legs are Mrs McSweeney.”

“Well, if it’s no up to ma knees, ah don’t want it,” was her curt reply.

“Ok Mrs McSweeney. Why don’t you measure up to your knees and call me back?”

“Awe right,” she snapped before hanging up.

I turned to my colleague who couldn’t help but listen into my bizarre conversation. 

“There must be an easier way to make a living, Janice?”

So, if you’re at home and frustrated with call centre staff, just remember, it’s not a walk in the park for them either!