Robocalls

Without a shadow of a doubt, robocalls are the worst thing since the invention of the call centre. Barack Obama may have used them to great effect during the presidential election campaign, but I reckon that they must be the nearest you can get to telephonic purgatory.

So what are they?

Robocalls are like call centre agents, except that they don't get paid or take breaks. Just like with their human precursors, the telephone number is selected and dialled automatically by the system. But in sharp contrast to their flesh-and-blood counterparts, robocalls are just recordings that play back about a second after you pick up the phone. Perhaps there's even a clever voice-activated ("Hello?" = go) mechanism that prevents them leaving messages on your answering machine.

One distinct disadvantage vis-à-vis the invariably college student call centre agent is that the recipient/victim of a robocall cannot vent his fury in a way that will have any neurone-triggering effect whatsoever. If it annoys you that you get a robocall, tough luck. The system couldn't care less. Shouting, screaming, smashing your telephone or thinking up snide remarks will help you not one iota. Robocalls are impervious, unfeeling ... well ... machines.

After months of seething frustration at this most mindless of marketing exercises, I have now stumbled upon a solution (O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!): the moment the robotic voice begins its inane pitch, you hit the number "5" on your keypad. The result? Your telephone number is removed from the system's database.

And the rest is silence - at least until the next call centre robocalls you.

Call Routing Systems

"Thank you for calling USA, Inc. For English, press 1, para español, oprime el número 2. Thank you. Now please enter your 10-digit telephone number and press the pound button on your keyboard. Thank you. Please enter your 5-digit ZIP code. Thank you. Now please enter the nine digits of your Social Security number. Thank you. If you wish to continue being led in circles by an automated call answering system, press 1. If you would like to speak to one of our operators, hang up now. Thank you. Now please specify your ethnicity. If you are Caucasian, press 1, African-American, press 2, Asian, press 3. If you are Hispanic, please stay on the line while we ignore you. If your wife is in the first quarter of her menstrual cycle, press 8. If you have ants in your pants, press 5. If you have 17 or more children, press 9. If you like M&Ms on Tuesdays only, press 4. If you have a weak bladder, you'll never reach your desired correspondent before it's too late. If you have shoe size 13 or above, hello big boy. For all other enquiries, please wait for the next available agent. To return to the main menu, press star. I'm sorry, but all our staff are busy right now. Please try again later."

Call routing systems in Europe give you a few options to choose from before you reach the right department (albeit manned, more often than not, by someone in India). In the States, every other call you make somehow ends up on a apparently endless routing loop - featuring the soothing voice of a soft-tongued female speaker - that seems designed purely to make you hang up in despair. And the ironic thing is that if you do eventually get through to a human being, you usually find out that:

a) All calls get routed to the same person anyway

b) No note is taken of any of the data you have entered, even if you end up speaking to a call centre agent

c) You've reached the wrong department (and no, they don't have the right number)

Luckily, help is at hand for us attention-deficient type-A personalities: even the people who work at these stores get so pissed off with their own call routing system - and presumably the fact that most of the people who need to contact them never get through - that they tell you how to find the emergency exit out of Playbackland and back into the Land of the Living ("Just hit zero the moment the phone's picked up").

Phew!