BY ANN BREVIG
I get off the phone, and I want to have a little cry. Actually, I want to cry before I get off the line, but I hold it together just a little bit more.
A few years ago, my husband’s company’s health insurance provider decided to go with a customer service company to deal with client questions. One more layer to have to wade through to get answers.
Try as they might, many of the employees at this customer service company simply don’t know what’s what. They talk too fast, especially for those who may be a bit – ahem – older or are going through complicated issues. Their goal is to get off the call as quickly as possible and also refer you to one of the insurance company’s other services.
Then I found Joe.
And for the past five years, he has been my go-to guy. Early on, he gave me his extension to plug in so I could bypass the first screening of why I was calling. I could go straight to him, or his voicemail, and leave a detailed message.
He knew what was what, and if he didn’t, he would get to the bottom of it. Our phone calls always started the same way: him stating that we were on a recorded line and could I give my full name, address and birth date. Even if we had just talked five minutes ago.
In his thick East Coast accent – Boston? Chicago? – think a less cranky sounding Bernie Sanders – he would run through the solution to my question. And some of them were doozies, both the questions and the answers. They were often complicated issues about billing. He would call and talk to the doctor’s office billing departments or the insurance company itself, getting down to the nitty-gritty.
Once, when I was connected to someone else by accident, I told Joe about my not-so-good experience. I heard him sigh down the line and he said “Ummmm…yeahhhhh…well…sometimes these people just don’t know what they’re talking about. Just wait and talk to me if you can.”
A few years ago, I even put his name and extension in my phone/address book instead of constantly looking for that scrap of paper I had written his numbers on five years ago. He is the only entry in the J’s.
Joe always got back to me. It might take a day or two, or perhaps a week or more. But he always did.
He got to know my husband too, only because he was calling for me, but they would exchange pleasantries. Of course, only after providing his name, address and date of birth first.
Today I had a question for Joe. When I input his extension after pressing “1” for this and “2” for that, I received a message that the number was no longer valid. I hung up and called again, thinking I may have put in the wrong number.
Same message. I must admit, I tried a third time before succumbing to going through the main line.
I was screened why I was calling. I asked about Joe and gave the young woman his extension.
“Um, yeah, he’s not here anymore.”
My heart sank.
She connected me with Raul. Nice enough guy, but he barely took a space between words. It was more like one loooong word when he answered my questions. I could hear other voices in the background.
I asked about Joe, again. Both the young woman and Raul had called him Joseph. But I knew him by Joe. I took a breath and asked a series of questions that I pretty much already knew the answers to:
“I don’t mean to be rude, but am I talking to a call center?”
“Yes, Miss Ann, I’m located in a call center. There’s call centers all across the country.”
“And where are you located?”
“I’m in Texas, Miss Ann.”
“Ok. So. I always could put in Joe’s extension and get to him so I was only talking to one person.”
“Yeah, no, you’ll just call the main line and be connected to whoever’s available.”
“You’re saying when I call, I can’t talk to the same person each time?”
“Yeah, no. I mean, I can give you my extension.” He rattled off four numbers that I didn’t write down. I knew I’d never call his extension by choice.
Incidentally, he initially gave me the wrong information and had to correct himself. Twice. I’m not sure if it’s the right information or not at this point. I may just have the provider ask to make sure.
Joe has left the company. I seriously want to cry.
Not only will I never be able to be blessed with his expertise, I will no longer be able to enjoy the sound of his thick Eastern accent and perfectly cadenced voice, his humor, patience and exchange pleasantries down the line – what we did for the holidays, what the weather was like where we were, just the ordinary tidbits of our lives.
I am hoping that Joe has gone on to something wonderful. I am sorry I wasn’t able to wish him well before he departed. While I know I was simply another customer, I feel as though I have lost a bit of a friend.
It will take some time, this news, to sink in. I haven’t crossed his name out in my address book. I’m not ready yet. Not ready to relinquish this relationship quite so soon. Definitely not looking forward to trying to find a new Joe – a needle in the haystack if ever there was one.
