Running up that HIL: tackling shabby customer service on the high street

We all love phrases such as "customer service", "joined-up customer service", and, of course, "software as a service" (you may detect a theme emerging here). Anyone would think we're in the service sector and there is a burgeoning service economy bulging out of the distressed and polluted brown-field sod where our manufacturing base used to be.

A good service-sector buzzphrase achieves many things:

• It galvanizes teams of people who are, or ought to be, working towards a shared goal (service).
  
• It makes people feel part of a movement—and perhaps even in the vanguard of it (service, perhaps).
  
• It throws up irresistible opportunities to forge a new acronym, with which to express membership of a soi-disant elite and berate your opponent — preferably in front of customers (in the service sector).
  
• It scores a vertical or horizontal battle line across the competitive turf, so people can line up on either side of it and stare each other out (and offer superior service).
  
• It tops out the coffers of PR agencies who can ensure their clients are on-message and over budget for another 12 months or so (in the service sector, conceivably).
  
• And it fires the imagination of industry analysts who set about drawing up five-year predictions of multibillion-dollar market valuations, while filling up their conference programmes until the next acronym comes along (one that may include an "s" for "service").

But you know what? Service industry buzzwords are useless if no one has communicated what they mean to staff — or, more importantly, how the business works and how different parts of it are supposed to join up. In short, it's meaningless if the organisation isn't quite as joined up as it says it is.

Take the example of the anonymous journalist who recently decided to apply for a home improvement loan from a frequently rebranded high street bank, née building society, that propriety forbids him to say rhymes with "shabby". It doesn’t.

Picture the scene. Our journalist imagines he is still in the old economy and goes to the trouble of dressing smartly — but not too smartly — and walks the mile or so to his local branch. He strides up to the customer service kiosk — one that's made of wood and red formica rather than pixels — and announces that he'd like to speak to someone about borrowing a sum for home improvements (improvements that will, come bankruptcy or resale, benefit the bank because his mortgage is with the same company).

After a ten-minute wait on an expanse of otherwise unoccupied red carpet, a customer service manager appears. Our journalist states his mission, once more, for the record. "Oh dear," says the customer service manager (the CSM?), "I'm afraid you had no need to come all this way into your local branch in person, sir. Simply log onto our website. You can do it all online and you’ll get a very swift response."

"But I did come all this way," says the journalist.

"Yes you did, sir, but please just log on to our website."

Our journalist retraces the weary mile back to his computer, feeling simultaneously irritated and inspired. The website is not compatible with his browser, but he can make out a customer service number in the jumble of typefaces and tickboxes. He calls it. After pressing enigmatic, "Lost" inspired combinations of hash, 1, 3, and star, he is rewarded with a five-minute sequence of advertisements accompanied by a cheery string arrangement. Our journalist considers whether there is any incentive for service companies to answer the phone, as they can probably double their revenues by keeping customers indefinitely on hold — but chases the thought from his mind, as that way madness lies.

He speaks to the customer service agent, who declines to give his name as their audit trail of calls (which may be recorded for training purposes) means that any one of hundreds of other anonymous agents can offer the same seamless service with the data our journalist supplies. Impressed, our journalist repeats his mission: to secure a small loan for home improvements. "You mean a HIL?" says the service agent. "No problem. Just go into your branch and they can sort it for you in person."

"I did that," says our journalist. "They referred me to your website. It didn’t work. But it did refer me to you."

"I see," says the agent. "Well, I can write down your details now, over the phone, and we’ll take it from there. Would you like me to do that?"

"I would," says the customer (remember him?).

Over the next 25 minutes our journalist discusses all of his requirements in depth, and a broad range of options and comparative costs are laid out before him. "That's great," says the customer service agent, finally. "I’ll pass all these details to one of our HIL executives, whose name is [ahem] and I’ll arrange for him to call you. Is 8pm next Thursday evening ok? You can explain everything again to him then."

Joined-up business. Sometimes there are no acronyms that fully do it justice — beyond WTFDYTYAD?! — but perhaps none that I can spell out in a forum such as this. Make sure yours delivers on its promise. And that means communication across the board, and no broken links in the chain.

By Chris Middleton
Contributing Editor